


Messages

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, F/M, Romance, getting through the writer's block, misunderstandings and miscommunication, mixing in some book characters as well, perhaps OOC for some minor characters, still in the developing process
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Brienne finds herself in Oldtown University's (un-) usual madness of finals, theses, and dissertations. 
Things grew ever the more difficult for her ever since Jaime finished his degree to now work at Casterly Rock over a year ago, leaving them with no other means to but to communicate via Ravening or texting as they struggle to keep their friendship alive against the odds of distance and connectivity problems. 
But a party night out makes everything so much worse for the history student with blonde hair and blue eyes. 
However, things take a very surprising turn thanks to some curious discoveries a janitor makes at Casterly Rock. 
Just that this makes things ever the more complicated. 
Will the two manage to finally communicate what they truly mean? What they truly feel? 
Read to find out.





	1. Ravening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift to ikkiM, for being all kinds of fabulous, and no words could account for her utter amazingness. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
> 
> *confetti and unicorns and glitter for you*
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the story, dear. You deserve ever the more than that, but hopefully this will be one of those tributes I will actually wrap up! I have intention to! 
> 
> As to the others who are so kind to look into this story, hi there! *waves*
> 
> Short information so that we are all on the same page: I am no native, this story goes unbeta'd at this point, and I still hope to get through my writer's block which keeps me from pretty much... all other stories but this one lately. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> Much love! ♥

“Oh, Seven Hells,” Brienne growls as she readjusts the grip on her shouldered leather bag as the tome for _The History of Westerosi Ornaments and Engravings_ almost tumbles out of it. The bag is too old, she knows, but she loves the old birthday gift from her father because the leather is worn perfectly… even if things tumble out every now and then.

“Damn you, Jaime!” she goes on as Brienne finally gets a grip on the strap around her flat chest, somehow trying to balance her papers, bag, and the stupid phone.

Just why does he always have to send her those stupid pictures?

Well, likely to get _just_ those reactions out of her, upon reflection. 

And Brienne hates herself for simply not growing accustomed enough to just ignore it when he finds yet another odd manip where the great Kings of Westeros have the heads of cats or dogs instead of their actual faces.

Though those are at least creative.

Far worse are random pictures of himself as he eats cereal, his feet with the title “Having a Me-Day with Some Pedicure”, or for some inexplicable reason a random obsession of photographing the inside of his mouth - and sending those pictures to her, no matter what time of the day. 

That is then topped by offensive, lewd, and highly inappropriate pictures and messages.

Repeat the process.

And it got worse now that the semester is growing to a close. He just loves to torture her, as it seems.

Brienne sucks the inside of her cheek into her mouth as she starts to type under the video of Prof. Pycelle… in a see-through tunic that he seemingly wore for a theater play… doing cardio… _Ugh_.

* * *

 

**_Brienne_ ** _: Didn’t know that was your kind of kink._

**_Jaime_** _: We both know I’m the straightest guy in all of Westeros._ <(￣︶￣)>

**_Brienne_ ** _: Which is why you keep sending me nudes of elderly men._

**_Jaime_ ** _: C’mon, it’s PYCELLE. Anything Pycelle-related is hilarious._

**_Brienne_ ** _: It's NOT when you sit in his lecture! Which I DID!_

**_Jaime_** _:_ (☉_☉) (-‿◦) _Perfect! Wish I could’ve seen your face._

**_Brienne_ ** _: Whatever._

**_Jaime_ ** _: But I’m gonna see your freckled grimace soon, right?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Dunno._

**_Jaime_ ** _: WHAT? We have a date, wench._

**_Brienne_ ** _: I am NOT wench. Will see about it once I’m back at the dorm. Until then._

**_Jaime_ ** _: YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HANGING HERE! WENCH! WENCH!_

* * *

 

Brienne shakes her head as she stuffs the phone into her jeans pocket with a smile.

_That guy_. Jaime is incorrigible, but no matter what, he is one of the few people who make Brienne laugh. She has to give him that much.

The blonde woman then goes ahead to stuff the loose papers back into her bag before she makes her way to the dorm. After almost dropping her keys thrice (that's a new record), she can finally shuffle inside. Brienne drops the bag on the bed unceremoniously – and then gets out of the stupid jeans fitting way too tightly.

She really never should have agreed to Sansa’s plan of getting her skinny jeans.

“Brienne, that will accentuate your figure _so_ well, trust me in this. This will show just how long your legs are”

_Which figure_? That’s what she _should_ have asked, but Sansa has a way about her to get what she wants, the little princess. Only Jaime has worse puppy eyes than her. And those are weapons. 

Brienne tosses the rolled-up jeans onto the bed as well, hopping through the room to grab some loose hot pants from her drawer. She wouldn’t ever wear them in public, but no one is going to see her wear them anyway. If she decides to talk Jaime later on, he won’t see anything below her waistline anyway, which does have its advantages. He’d never know just how often she wears either pajama pants or ridiculously short shorts, especially during the summer. Oldtown is hotter than Tarth, which always comes with a nice summer breeze or even some summer storms every now and then, and it took her some time to accustom to the new climate.

_Okay_ , scratch that. Brienne never really accustomed. She still has her hair a mess during the summer, sticking up in all the wrong directions because she keeps sweating as though she was running a marathon, which doesn't help her naturally ungainly looks by any means, she knows. 

Brienne sighs as she flops down on her office chair with worn blue leather, twisting and twirling around it absently as she stretches her long limbs.

_What a day._

Pycelle’s lecture was bad enough thanks to Jaime’s video messages – only the Gods know why she even checks her phone during class.

And then meeting up with the lazy hats about the group project didn’t help her mood either. 

But it also gets somewhat lonely around this time of the year, and Brienne hates that part about the semester drawing to a close. Everyone is busy with finals, with studying for exams, running to the offices, writing theses, or trying to slack out of other projects to have more study time. And for someone like Brienne, it’s ever the tougher to keep in touch somehow. She is not easy to get along with, she knows. So it’s all about lonely evenings at the dorm with popcorn, the umpteenth rerun of _Maidens and Stags_ , reading cheap novels from the campus bookstore, or texting with Jaime.

But it’s ever the tougher now that she is on her own and has to figure out with whom she can hang around campus without becoming the object of ridicule she was already back at High School, Middle School… _okay_ , let’s be real, the object of scorn she’s been for all her life. Mannish women with freckles and taller than pretty much every man she’s met at campus thus far don’t easily make friends. Especially if those women don’t happen to be into girlish things except for maybe some occasional singing under the shower or some guilty pleasure of watching _Maidens and Stags_ despite its so overtly sexist and morally questionable onset.

At least the beach scenes are nice and it’s simply hilarious once you just watch it for the fun of it.

Brienne just wished that Jaime was still at campus. She didn’t feel so out of place when he was still around.

And even though he texts her more often than she’d want him to at times (just when does this guy actually work?), it’s not the same as it was to have him on campus.

He was a senior when she started at Oldtown University, finishing his degree on Westerosi History with focus on antique weaponry, which she coincidentally also studies.

They got tossed into the same course since he had missed out on some during his third semester, a hand injury during a sport event that left him with tough rehab schedule and some courses to catch up on. Jaime had been all reluctant about it, not wanting to work with a newbie, and especially one he first came to address as a boy.

Yeah, no, Brienne was _not_ impressed.

But once Prof. Aemon made clear to them that he wouldn’t let them change partners, they had to work together, and from there… well, things got vastly better, probably to both their surprise. Brienne had to realize that Jaime was actually a decent guy hidden behind smug smiles and inappropriate comments.

He even walked her back to the dorm whenever they worked until late in the libraries – regardless of the fact that Brienne _obviously_ didn’t have to fear for anything to happen to her, because who’d want to ambush a woman who’d pass for a guy, right? Needless to mention that Brienne could very well defend herself already then, having learned self-defense from Goodwin very early on in her life.

Followed by a bunch of martial arts courses - and some black belts. 

But Jaime _insisted_ , and wouldn’t have it any other way but walk her all the way up to the door, each night, no matter her protest.

And somehow, Brienne came to enjoy those walks back to the dorm a lot more than she wants to admit to this very day. Because then they talked about private things, loosely, without the tension she usually feels when supposed to interact with people on friendly terms. Hands in his pocket, a smug grin on his face, he’d tell her about some many things, about Casterly Rock, his home, about his little brother Tyrion, a staff member at the university, who may be short in size, but is likely smarter than both of them combined, about the injury, rehab, and how often he felt like giving up. 

Well, and Jaime had to realize that she was not the almost bad either, or so he later on told her once they got an A+ on the project.

Somehow, their loose bond continued and they took the remaining projects for the course together, impressing even Prof. Aemon with their teamwork.

And so a loose bond grew to be… pretty much both their life for as long as it lasted.

They were simply constantly together. They’d go to the library together. She’d get him coffee in the morning because he is a walking corpse without his caffeine. They trained together at the university's gym. She beat his ass, more than once, with pleasure. He’d sleep over at her place more often than she ever wanted him to – because Jaime was too lazy to go back to his dorm after some many late night shifts for projects, and because she happens to have a room entirely to herself. It wasn’t like they didn’t do things on their own or so, it was just that they stayed in each other’s company, within each other’s periphery. There was always the sense that the other one was around. And it was so comfortable that Brienne wanted it to last forever, this feeling of knowing that there was someone just within reach. 

But all of that was over after his last semester drew to a close and Jaime finished his degree. Brienne knew the day would come, she knew it the moment on she’d met him, but it still left her flexing her wrists nervously as he packed his car to drive back to Casterly Rock, where Jaime got his new job in a Casterly's faculty, which is one of its kind with the best techniques, computers, and labs to run tests on old artifacts in the entire Westerlands. Obviously co-founded by the Lannisters. 

It was the first hug she received from a man other than her father or Goodwin – and it was likely also the saddest one.

That was until Jaime texted her out of the car and she just cracked up laughing at the message.

Ever since then, the two have tried their best to stay in touch, despite the fact that it grew increasingly difficult, with jaime working and her having courses - and her own final thesis now being issue.

Which makes it seem like there are even more miles between them than there actually are.

Messages now stay unreturned until the next day more than once because either one forgets to check the phone.

Video chats have to be postponed because the internet connection is just terrible.

Frozen frames, pixels moving too slow to relate to the actual movement, distorted voice, and messages waiting for a reply - that's the reality of their relationship now, and it's not a nice one, considering that they are each other's best friend.

Brienne shakes her head. She has to stop thinking about that. It doesn’t get her anywhere. 

Being sad doesn't fix anything.

She turns around to face her computer screen to switch it on, listening to the buzz as the computer boots. For some reason she always finds that calming. The lights start to flicker and Brienne begins with her routine, checks her mails, starts some music, checks the newsletter.

She is just about to open a document to write down something for tomorrow’s course on archery when a raven-shaped icon pops up at the lower right corner.

_Raven_ – an online video chat program that grew to be a bit of a lifesaver for her, though again, not that Brienne would ever say so out loud. A smile flashes across her features as she hits the button. The pop-up window appears with a black raven icon in the upper right corner, the screen still black, however. 

“Ha, knew it! No way you wouldn’t call me back,” Jaime’s voice hollers over the loudspeakers. “For that you miss me too much.”

“You wish.”

“What?!”

“Nothing,” Brienne chuckles, hugging her chest.

Sometimes connectivity issues do have their advantages.  

“How is it in good ol’ Oldtown?” she can hear Jaime’s voice boom over the loudspeakers, though the video doesn’t seem to work yet.

“Good and old,” she replies with a roll of her broad shoulders, and at last there is his face, even if a bit pixelated and slower than he actually is.

He is still too damn pretty, though. 

A pixelated god, even if he doesn't always act god-like, he damn well looks like one.

“Ah, there you are!" He smiles once he seems to get her image as well.

"Here I am."

"Man, they have to fix their video options. This _sucks_ ,” Jaime complains, raking his long fingers through his hair.

Yeah, definitely too pretty.

“Write a nice e-mail to the technicians, see where it gets you,” she snorts.

“Man, I think that I have to feel offended, you only wear little clothing when I am not around,” Jaime comments. Brienne looks down at her white tank top with a frown, then shows the middle finger at the screen. “You shut your mouth. It’s summer season and there is no air conditioning. Let me be.”

“Hey, I don’t complain about the view," Jaime argues, and if Brienne is not mistaken, he lifts his arms as a gesture of defiance, though the screen is partially frozen again. 

“Shut your mouth!”

“Please tell me that you are not just sitting there in your panties, or else I will die,” he groans, feigning exasperation. 

“I am wearing winter boots and rainbow-colored balloon pants,” Brienne grumbles. “I leave that picture to your imagination.”

“I thought it was hot in Oldtown?” he argues. “No wonder you are sweating if you wear boots and balloon pants.”

“Could we stop talking about my outfit choices?” Brienne asks, rolling her eyes. 

“If you tell me what color your panties have?”

“Okay, I will hang up now,” Brienne cries out in exasperation.

“Hey, hey, wait! I stop. I stop. I promise,” Jaime says, holding up his hands.

“For how long?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“Three minutes?”

“That’d be a new record," Brienne huffs. 

“I am making an effort, wench.”

“Not wench.”

“Wenchy?”

“Oh, look how the cursor goes to the button…,” she says in a sing-song.

“I’ll stop now. Three minutes. I promise. Scout’s honor,” Jaime says in a hurry, gesturing.

“We both know you never were a scout.”

“I promise,” he sighs. 

“Fine, so anyway… How is the job?” Brienne asks, hugging her arms as she twists in the chair back and forth slightly. 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he replies, leaning back in his chair likewise. “People know shit about the job and it’s annoying the flying hell out of me, but… here we are.”

“Wait, you are at work _right now_?” Brienne frowns.

“Catching my break, but yeah."

“The break is for you to eat something.”

“Thanks, mom,” Jaime huffs. 

“I wouldn’t have to say that if you looked after yourself like any adult man should,” Brienne snorts. “I still remember quite vividly how I had to drag you to the nurse because you forgot to properly stay hydrated during finals.”

“That was _once_.”

“You fainted like a girl. Into my arms.”

“Once. And I had a lingering fever, to my defense," Jaime argues, puckering his lips. 

"Which proves my point that you should look after yourself more," Brienne insists.

"You are not my mother, so don't try to sound like it. That's creepy as hell."

"If you quit the fatherly tone?" she suggests.

"Oh man, I do love that part. I guess it can't be helped then. I have a sandwich around here _somewhere_. That should do."

"What a healthy diet," she huffs.

"I have one hell of a metabolism anyways."

"What about how your body is a temple?"

"Even a temple contains some garbage."

"Ahhhh. So anyway, is there anything on the job that apparently keeps you occupied, or are you just playing boss and commanding people around who cannot help but follow your orders no matter how ridiculous they may be?” Brienne huffs.

“I do both. I multi-task!” he announces cheerily. 

“I am _so_ proud of you.” She rolls her eyes.

“As you should be. Which reminds me."

"Of what? Torturing more of the staff?"

"No, I have actually some awesome news I wanted to tell you about, but then you had to mention your panties," Jaime says with a dark grin. 

" _You_ mentioned them," Brienne corrects him, feeling heat rise to her cheeks at once. 

Damn him.

"In any case, the panties, whoever may have mentioned them first, distracted me from my awesome news."

"Then just say it already."

"Cling on tight, you may fall off your chair from shock," he warns her. 

"Please don't tell me you got yourself a pet. That animal will starve and perish," Brienne moans.

"No, no pet. A sword."

"A sword?" Brienne frowns at the screen.

"Yes, a sword, you know, the long blades with pointy ends? The weapons knights used?"

"I know what a sword is, thank you. Just say what you want to say," she groans.

"We found not just some random, old, dusty sword to put in a showcase. We found one of the best preserved weapons of the century."

"Oh wow, awesome."

Brienne, studying the subect matter herself, knows just how difficult it is to find intact swords these days. The Long Night didn't just cost peoples' lives, but also diminished historical resources for hundreds and thousands of years to come. That includes weaponry specifically, leaving only few and oftentimes destroyed weapons to analyze. So finding an intact sword is a sensational discovery.

"You have to see it. It's a beauty, I tell you. Valyrian steel, with scabbard and belt and all still mostly intact, from the time of Robert’s Reign, actually, before Robert’s Reign. We are still running the tests of just how old it is.”

“For real?!” she gapes.

There are only three blades of Valyrian steel to be found in the faculties all over Westeros at this point. A fourth blade is a sheer miracle!

Brienne can't help but lean forward in her seat as her mind keeps going through the possible implications.

“If I tell you?” Jaime chuckles. He knows that Brienne has a knack for just that period. The moment on he had the sword in hand, Jaime knew that this would make her big blue eyes spark up like stars, even if those stars are rather pixelated at this point.

“It used to belong to the Stark family before the War of the Five Kings, ran under the name of Ice, but then it got into the possession of the Lannisters after the events of the Red Wedding. Turns out that sword was then reforged with lion heads and all sometime after Robert’s Reign. After that, things get shaky since the textual evidence is missing. That is all we know at this point of time. I’ll send you pictures later on. Your big blue eyes will fall out of their sockets at this beauty, I am not even kidding.”

“How wasn’t it found until now? If it’s your family’s possession now?” Brienne frowns, licking her chapped lips as her mind already goes through the data she went through over the years. This is incredibly exciting, okay, that is an understatement. For Brienne, that is like Christmas and her birthday combined. 

Maybe that will finally give some means to prove her theory relating to one of the great kings of the reconstruction period.

The possibilities are sheer endless.

“We don't know yet for certain. Though it may actually be that someone mislaid it hundreds of years ago... and was then forgotten about."

“Let me guess, one of your maids found it while cleaning up your messy room?” she huffs. 

“No, actually the _janitor_ did, somewhere in the darkest corners of the library, in the old vaults that I think were prison cells when the Casterlies still held the castle, and a while… longer under the Lannisters, I assume. No one’s been there in ages - because they are creepy as hell and the myth prevails that people can hear Lann the Clever whispering down there. The janitor got lost and almost fell over it, or so he said. Well, lucky for us.”

“Only _you_ have luck like that,” Brienne chuckles. 

“Well, now we can get an exclusive insight into the arts of forging around that time. Many swords were lost after the Long Night,” Jaime says with a grin.

“Right,” she agrees. “It’s such a pity that we have so little evidence at this point, but that is one huge success. Maybe it can fill some historical gaps with regards to your family’s history and how that sword… ended up in those crypts.”

“Exactly. And I bet you'd want to know if that doesn't relate to Widow's Wail and the impact during the reconstruction period." He grins, well aware that Brienne has one particular theory she hopes to be able to prove one day. 

"I would have to lie to deny that. This is... _amazing_."

"So? Will you fetch a flight over to Casterly Rock so I can show you my sword?” Jaime grins. “If you behave yourself and are really nice to me, I would even let you hold it.”

“It’s not your sword, and you know that I can’t just take off. I have courses," Brienne replies, shaking her head, tugging a loose strand behind her ear. 

“You could make it over the weekend. You don’t have weekend courses, do you?” he argues.

“No.”

“So come by see me.”

“I can’t,” Brienne insists.

“You can, you just don’t want.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what? Don't you wanna see me? Oh, you hurt me, wench. You hurt me so bad," he mewls. 

“I can’t come this weekend. I have other plans,” Brienne argues, her voice trailing off.

“Better plans than seeing my sword?” He looks at her.

“ _In fact_.”

“What plans? Can I join?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“No.”

“What plans?” Jaime repeats.

“Nothing that has to concern you," Brienne tells him. 

She never should have said anything in the first place. That man is nosy.

“You were wrestled from my life, I have to concern myself with that, wench. _All_ of that!” Jaime argues. 

“Shut up,” she moans.

“Let me guess, you had a course with… Pycelle, right? Yeah, that made that pic epically well-sent. Pycelle usually does that to your mood, or anyone’s for the matter. Though his farting is kind of hilarious, so long you sit in the back of the auditorium to be out of harm's way.”

“I still hate you for that video. I have those images now scourged into my brain. Thank you very much," Brienne grumbles. 

“We share everything. Even the pain of seeing this. So if we share everything, why aren’t you sharing with me what makes you frown even more other than Pycelle’s cardios and farts?”

“It’s just people being stupid for a group project," Brienne replies, scratching her fingernail over a scratch on her wooden desk. 

“Let me guess. You do all the work and they get credit for it?” he huffs.

“That’s the way I know that I get the grade I want,” Brienne grumbles.

She knows it’s not a good way of going about it, but Brienne rather does it herself than get a bad grade because people don’t get things done until the deadline.

“You have to stop serving people, wench. They only take advantage of you,” Jaime tells her, now more sincere.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Brienne insists.

“But it bothers _me_. You make yourself small. That doesn’t fit you. For that you stand too tall by nature.”

“Whatever.”

“I mean that,” Jaime insists.

“I mean it, too. You don’t have to protect me. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t manage. So anyway. I just count the days until I get my degree, then I am out of here,” Brienne says, not wanting to discuss the matter any further. It just makes her sad and feel stupid.

Because she hates it when he acts like he is some twisted version of her big brother, which he is not, and which she doesn't want him to be for her.

“You are supposed to enjoy your time there. It gets more boring once you have a job. Job is work. Study is party with a bit of work. Well, in your case… the work of others.”

“Could you just _not_?” Brienne growls.

“Hey, I only have those precious hours to tell you how you mess up your life!” Jaime argues. “I have to use my time wisely.”

“Stop saying that!”

“My, my, you are grouchy. Eat some candy, or chocolate. That's supposed to help the mood. Or maybe just knock some guy in the head.”

“I only did that once, and it was out of self-defense,” Brienne insists, puckering her lips.

“I know. I loved it. Never saw a right hook that well executed,” he says with a grin.

“How’s the hand?” Brienne asks, leaning her cheek on her palm. 

“Could be better, didn’t get worse,” Jaime replies, rolling his wrist in front of the screen.

“You still do the exercises, though?”

“Well, with you not there to motivate me, I have to try really hard not to forget it,” he chuckles softly.

“You _have_ to,” Brienne insists. “Or else it will only get worse.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Or rather, if you don’t keep it up, I will have to come kick your ass,” she warns him.

“Well, if that finally gets you on a plane to Casterly Rock?”

“Don’t you even dare, okay?” Brienne snaps. 

“I don’t understand why you even refuse all the time. I mean, we both know you have the money, and even if not, I told you I’d cover the expenses. Casterly Rock is one huge palace. You’d have your own room and room service, and you’d get to see that marvelous sword. Oh, and did I mention my company? That’s one huge plus.”

“I just can’t. It’s nearly the end of the semester. You know it always gets tough around finals. I accepted that when you wrapped up your degree, too, and let you do your work. Now it's only fair that you grant me the same."

“So what are you going to do at the weekend?” Jaime asks, unimpressed.

“Jaime,” she sighs.

He just never stops.

“C’mon, my life is boring as hell without you bothering me all the time. Give a man something to think about,” Jaime argues. "Or else I will have to entertain those thoughts about your panties again."

"Do I have to remind you that you are at work?"

"Do I have to remind you that my family practically owns the faculty, measured by the amount of money Lannister Corp pumps into it as funds? I can say 'panties' as often as I like. So now, if you want me to stop talking about panties, you should tell me about your weekend plans, or else I will have to keep digging into the matter."

“ _Fine_. If you _need_ to know – I was invited to a party this weekend,” Brienne tells him, not looking at the screen, absently running one long, callused fingertip over the wooden tabletop.

“A _party_? _You_ go to a party? Whenever _I_ asked you, you told me to _fuck off_.”

“I was asked nicely and politely, and I already said I’d come. So no short trips over to the Rock for me," Brienne argues. 

It really came as a surprise when he approached her. It came totally out of the blue, which is likely why Brienne even said yes in the first place, because she is indeed no fan of such gatherings because they make her feel uncomfortable most of the time. But the guy was really sweet, a bit shy even, which was somewhat charming, granted that he is about her size.

“You hurt me,” he whines.

“You’ll live.”

“No, I won’t,” Jaime mewls. 

“Whatever.”

“Who asked you?” Jaime asks.

Of course he wouldn’t just let it go.

“What does it matter who asked me?” Brienne frowns. 

“Do you know the guy?” Jaime keeps asking. 

“ _Yes_? We’ve had some courses together this semester. He is nice.”

“And he asked you, out of the blue?” Jaime asks, his tone somewhat strange. Though maybe it’s just the video connectivity again.

“He asked me two days ago, yes. Was he supposed to send chocolates and balloons to invite me to some college party where we drink beer from plastic cups? Yeah right, no,” Brienne huffs, shifting in her seat uncomfortably as her spine seems to grow stiffer by the second. 

“But you’re careful, right?”

“What?” Brienne snaps her eyes at the screen.

“You’re just supposed to be… careful,” he says again.

“About _what_?” she demands, narrowing her eyes. 

“Yourself. Guys are dicks. I should know. I’m one of them.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Brienne asks slowly, though she thinks she already knows just to where this is heading - and she doesn't like it, at all. 

“Just… that you are supposed to be careful, is all. If a guy invites you just like that when he didn’t even talk to you until then… Some guys…,” Jaime mutters, his voice trailing off, patting his chest with his good hand. 

Brienne's mouth falls open.

This simply can’t be.

“Wait, you think I was only invited for the fun of it. To mock me. Is that it?” Brienne demands.

“I…”

Brienne throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

“God, you don’t even try to pretend. Are you serious? Because the ugly girls only ever get invited by the seniors who take pity in them or people who wanna mock them?” she snaps, not even caring if she is making a scene right at this moment. 

Because she didn't expect a comment like that from her best friend, Seven Hells.

“What? No, that’s not how I meant it,” Jaime stutters, sitting up straight in his seat.

“That’s _exactly_ how you meant it. Because you can’t even imagine that a guy may like me, or just invite me to a party because it’s good tone. No, of course, only Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister finds it in himself to take pity in the ugly wench.”

“Now you are twisting words, Brienne.”

“I will hang up now. Have fun with that sword of yours. Better-looking than me by far anyway," Brienne curses angrily, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. 

“Brienne, wait up,” he says, but his picture is frozen and pixelated on the screen.

She hits the disconnect button before she can hear another word of his humming over the loudspeakers. Brienne twists back around in her chair, drawing one knee up to her chest, trying her best not to cry. She knows that Jaime drops mean comments even when he doesn’t mean them, and sometimes he is a bit too… _direct_ , but that was new, and it hurts. Because she can’t just go ahead and punch him, as she normally would do.

Damn him.

Brienne lets out a small growl as she gets up to pick something to wear for the party at once, leaving the computer to itself in a futile attempt to leave Jaime trapped within the device as well, when in fact she knows he is still circulating inside her head, the way he nearly always does. 

Damn him, really.

She has to find a dress that will make her look... not the worst.

He will be so wrong.

And then she will call him, right after the party, and he will have to apologize.

She will so totally have fun at that party, and Jaime won't be invited but will only get to hear it from afar.

* * *

 

Jaime pushes away from the table, twisting in his chair, grabbing a handful of his blond locks to pull on until the roots of his hair burn with sweet pain.

That the woman always gets wrong every word he says, _Seven Hells_.

“Trouble in paradise?” Bronn calls out from behind him. Jaime lets out a groan as he turns to the black-haired man, twisting in his office chair. 

“Don’t you have a job to do?” he snorts, making his annoyance no secret. 

“Don’t you?” Bronn snorts.

“I’m on my break.”

“How’s the sweetheart back home?”

“I have no sweetheart back home,” Jaime rolls his eyes. “Apparently, I am home right now, in case you forgot.”

“Then who are you Ravening with?” Bronn asks, grimacing.

“A friend from college. She’s giving me a headache, _as always_.”

It was really by far easier when he could just show up at her dorm to tell her how to. Ever since it’s just about phone calls, video chats, and odd photos, Jaime feels like he lost grip on her, lost his touch with her.

And he hates it.

She is slipping through his fingers, no matter how often he makes a wake-up call to her with odd texts to keep her aware that he is still there.

And now she thinks that he thinks of her in that way, when in fact he...

“Yeah, as I said, trouble in paradise," Bronn huffs, nodding at what Jaime reckons is likely a lunatic facial expression his own face right at this moment. 

“How about you grab the results from the lab?” Jaime retorts, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“How about you do that yourself?” Bronn snorts, unimpressed.

Tyrion shall be damned for recommending that guy.

He doesn't even have particular knowledge in the field, let alone interest. He just wants his paycheck, and apparently drive him crazy.

If only Jaime had a good intern who'd do a good, proper job instead of this snarky bastard.

Though Jaime makes yet another mental note to smack Tyrion the next time he sees him - for recommending one of the worst applicants ever.

“You know that I employ you, which means I pay you? Which means that you should do what I tell you to do?” Jaime replies.

“Well, _technically_ , your family employs me. And being your housemaid ain't part of the profile last time I checked, fella.”

“Just get the damn reports,” Jaime grounds out, fed up with this shit.

“Yeah, yeah, trouble in paradise much,” Bronn whistles as he walks off.

“Shut up!” Jaime calls over his shoulder, glancing back at the black screen where she used to be, freckles made of pixels.

“I will see about those test results, then.”

“THANK YOU.”

Jaime looks at the screen again. She is still offline. Seems like he’ll have to wait until she calmed down again. 

Now he really wished he could just knock on her door, but all he can do now is knock on the not-existent door of texts, waiting for a reply.

She will only land herself in trouble, he is sure of it, and the problem is that he can't prevent her from it now.

“Stupid wench. I will get to tell you that I told you so soon enough," he mutters, glancing at the screen again. 

“You are talking to yourself!”

“Shut up and get those reports!”


	2. The Party through the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne goes to the party. 
> 
> Jaime comes up with some plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

Brienne nestles with the hem of her dress, grumbling to herself as she walks down the white stone path leading to the address Hyle gave her when he invited her to the party.

She knows that putting on a dress doesn’t make a lady of her, but Margaery assured her that this dress fitted her well - and Sansa, _obviously_ , agreed cheerily once the fashion design student deemed this dress a good choice for Brienne's figure ( _which figure_? she wanted to ask yet again, but did not). It’s blue, and Jaime always says that it brings out the color in her eyes, though she tries her best not to think of Jaime, or else she only gets sad and furious.

They didn't text or talk ever since the Ravening, or rather, Brienne decided not to speak to him until after the party - to tell him just how nice the evening was, despite the fact that she found her fingers ghosting over the screen more than once to type a quick reply.

She can't bear to stay mad at him for long, and normally she does not, but this particular comment stung.

So the only way to make him feel sorry about it, or so Brienne believes, is by proving him wrong, which she is to do tonight.

After that, they will be even again, and they can pick up where they left off, because other than wanting to reconcile with Jaime, she does crave more information on that marvellous sword he discovered. Despite the fight they had, he sent the mail with the pictures, and Brienne had to blink thrice at the sheer beauty of that blade.

Brienne shakes her head. She has to focus.

Parties are work - for her anyway. She has to remind herself to act socially and not as awkward as she usually does.

Truth be told, Brienne even caught herself practicing smiling in front of the mirror a number of times as she straightened her hair, however pitiful that may be.

So she can't think of her nerd-topics all the while. She has to think about smalltalk topics: finals, the local cafés, how the professors are all wrong or annoying. What was on TV this week, those kinds of things.

At some point she really wished this was just a night-out over at Jaime's (well, technically no longer Jaime's) room, watching DVDs. She didn't have to think about topics beforehand when around him, but with more or less strangers? Yeah, Brienne needs to research these things to somehow appear like she is a social being.

Which is sad to admit, but it can't be helped. That's just the state of affairs.

Brienne's eyes catch sight of the small mansion Hyle told her to come to. It's not decorated, only some colorful strings are wrapped around the fence to indicate that this is the house where the party is going down.

She lets out a long sigh before she makes her way past the fence and over to the building, hearing the music hum even from afar. She climbs the steps, glad to have settled for ballerina slippers instead of high heels as Margaery suggested, because that makes walking and climbing steps a whole lot easier. Brienne pushes the door open, only to be met by college students romaing around the large living room with wooden floor and old furniture. 

"Oh, there you are!" she can hear a familar voice call out.

"Hyle," she greets the tall man, flashing an uncertain smile she hopes looks better than the futile tries in front of the mirror.

"I'm glad you came."

"Thanks another time for inviting me," she says, surprised to have him put his hand on her shoulder to push her further into the room. "How about I introduce you to the others and then we get a drink, hm?"

"Sounds good," Brienne replies curtly.

"Awesome. The guys are all eager to get to know you."

"Are they?"

Guys are never eager to get to know her.

"If I tell you so?" he chuckles. "C'mon now, the others are already waiting."

Brienne finds herself in a sort of rush as names pour down on her, hands are shaken, even brief hugs are exchanged as Hyle's friends greet her. Brienne sticks to short replies and trying her best to let her smile look natural, despite the fact that this feels anything but natural. 

Because normally, she is ignored at parties, if she doesn't get sideglances with the clear subtext of "what the hell are you even doing here?".

But those guys? They are polite and kind, and they even laugh at one awkward attempt of hers to make a joke.

Well, maybe college is a bit different from high school after all.

Soon she has a cocktail in a red plastic cup in hand and is seated on the rather dusty couch with green, worn velvet with Hyle and some other college student whose name escaped her. Ambrose? Edmund Ambrose. That one, right. There was also another... Ben Bushy if she remembers correctly. He offered her a drink from his silver cup, though Brienne politely turned down the offer. 

Edmund, to her surprise, is actually also into some things she enjoys, such as riding horses.

Brienne is just so glad that there are some topics to talk about that she actually has a clue about.

While they still talk about the smalltalk topics she thought of beforehand, after all, everyone has some professor to complain about, Brienne finds herself at ease with talking about other matters as well, such as equitation, and martial arts.

But the best part is that Hyle as well as Edmund seem to be interested in her opinion, instead of just talking about sports and expecting her to agree with every word they have to say on the matter, expecting her to be amazed at their knowledge of the field (because she did have such dates, a number of times - and that was boring as hell, and only earned Jaime stitches when Brienne told him about it... which reminds her, she is not supposed to think of him, Seven Hells).

Normally, guys (or anyone in general who doesn't really know her) keep their distance, likely intimidated by a mixture of both her looks and her aloof attitude when around strangers, but those two? They talk to her, and Brienne finds more and more confidence in the smalltalk. Suddenly it seems so easy to speak about these matters that she calls herself silly for ever having been this anxious about going. 

If she is not mistaken, Hyle and Edmund are even flirting with her, which seems odd enough, because there are more girls, and by far prettier ones than her, still, they stick to the couch as though it was the place of action, and she the center of it. 

“So, what are you going to do once the semester is over?” Edmund asks, ripping Brienne out of her thoughts. She takes a quick sip of her drink. 

“Write my thesis and finish up my degree,” Brienne replies happily. She worked really hard, and even managed to finish earlier by taking courses for higher semesters earlier on in her studies.

“Seems like you want to get the hell out of here?” he asks, looking disappointed, if playfully so. 

“What? _No_ , it’s just… I want to _work_ , so I have to get my degree first,” Brienne explains.

Though of course she wants to get out of college nevertheless. There is nothing much that holds her here, safe for Sansa and Margaery. But other than that? Nothing much to keep her around. Brienne is far too anxious to give regular presentations, which made her certain that becoming a lecturer was not part of her future plans very early on in her college time. That leaves field studies, working in the field, at museums, institutes and the like. And Brienne loves those parts, which is why she hopes to get herself a job in that field straight away once she finished up her degree. 

She just finally wants to get in touch with history itself.

Because there are still so many histories lying in the ground, resting in old vaults, waiting for people like her to bring them to light again.

“Any job offers yet?” Edmund asks. 

“Not really,” Brienne admits. “I surely hope so, though.”

Jaime told her that if she doesn’t find herself anything, she can always do an internship at Casterly Rock, which makes her a lot calmer because that means she has a safety net in case she doesn't get a placement.

Though then again… after that fallout, she may just have lost it, upon reflection. 

“Well, with your qualifications, I bet they will hire you at once,” the guy says with a lazy smile that gets even lazier from the drink. 

“One can never know, but thank you,” Brienne replies politely, if stiffly.

Brienne is surprised at the hand suddenly on her thigh, earning her nothing but goosebumps. She steals a glance at the Edmund’s face. He does so on purpose. _Huh_.

“You are from the Stormlands, right?” the man goes on, leaning in a little closer, drawing nonsense patterns on her thigh that only makes Brienne shiver.

“Yes,” Brienne replies slowly as she feels him even groping a little bit.

That’s not normal.

Guys usually don’t…

“Well, I am, too. Maybe we can see each other during the holidays some time?” he offers. 

Brienne tilts her head.

Just what is going on here?

Meeting over the holidays after they know each other for how long?

Has that guy looked at her face or is he just too drunk to bother to care?

Or is that just his kink?

If only Jaime was here to tell her - he can analyze people. He could tell by the way the guy twitches his nose just what he is up to.

 _But he is not here_ , Brienne reminds herself. _He is not here. You have to figure it out yourself._

Or maybe... _not_ and ust let it happen? Maybe that guy is just really into tall blondes?

“I don’t know how long I will be around, to be honest. Normally, I only go to my home island during the break. Or until I have found myself a job, that is,” Brienne tells him, swallowing the lump in her throat, trying hard not to think of that one time she had to wear a cast after an accident while sparring with Jaime, a pink cast she may add, after Jaime bribed the doctor into doing it, despite of the blue one she had demanded, damn him. He stayed over the first night she was back at the dorm because she got pretty whoopy thanks to the medication, only to wake up to him having drawn on the entire cast – and her thigh, apparently. And Gods know he was proud of that achievement, despite the fact that Brienne tossed him out of bed, and knocked him with her crutch.

“Home island… so _Tarth_ , right?” the man asks, snapping Brienne out of the memory back to the reality of him talking to her, groping her thigh, as though she was desirable in ways she knows she plainly is not.

“Yes!” Brienne replies, feeling her heart beat faster. She places one hand on his to politely draw it away, but he… _insists_ a bit.

But why does he?

This is all too confusing.

Or maybe it's that damned drink of whatever it is.

“Hey, man, how about you give the lady some space?” she can hear Hyle say. Brienne whips her head around. 

“We were just getting acquainted," Edmund retorts. 

“I don’t think the lady agrees with that,” Hyle argues, looking at Brienne, who offers a relieved smile.

Bless him.

She probably should have stuck to Hyle the whole evening, alone, upon reflection. He was so sweet for inviting her, for showing her around - and now he even defends her, even though Brienne knows she can defend herself if it really went too far.

Though Hyle's comment still leads to the desired result, in that Edmund removes his hand from her thigh.

“Care to go for a walk?” Hyle offers, extending his big hand to her. 

“A walk?” Brienne asks, tilting her head at him.

“I need some fresh air,” Hyle tells her with a shrug.

“Oh, okay,” Brienne replies, and lets Hyle pull her away from the man with his groping hands. Something she is not entirely disappointed about because he was trying… too hard.

A guy, trying too hard...

That still sounds ridiculous.

If she were to tell Jaime, he probably wouldn't believe it.

Ugh, just why does she always think about him?!

She an Hyle walk down the white path a while, and Brienne enjoys the cold breeze on her heated skin. 

It reminds her of the walks back from the library... oh Seven Hells!

"Sorry about Edmund. He gets a bit... clingy after some drinks."

"It was kind of you to tell him to lay off, but I could have handled it myself. It was all... within the boundaries."

"Oh, I bet you can defend yourself alright," Hyle grins. "You work out a lot, don't you?"

"I do, yeah."

"Nice. I like working out, too. Though I'm more into lifting weights, you know?"

"Aha."

Brienne hopes that he won't flex his muscles now, glad to see that he continues walking, however.

They reach a patch of moist grass by an old oak that makes whispering sounds in the breeze, the light of the stars barely filtering through the crown. 

"So, despite the... not so great intermezzo right there, you enjoy yourself alright?"

"Yes, yes!" Brienne replies quickly.

Did she give him a sign that she wasn't liking it?

She really has to get more practice...

"Glad to hear that."

“It’s nice here. Better than the dorms by far. Well, I shouldn’t complain. I am one of the few who have a room to themselves, after my roommate dropped out shortly after she began the semester yet again,” Brienne chuckles softly.

Jaime gets lucky finding antique swords, Brienne just always happens to move in with that one student who drops out merely a few weeks into the program, as it appears.

“Oh, so that means you don’t have anyone watching you? _Nice_.” Hyle grins.

“It has its advantages for certain,” Brienne agrees.

Like never having to bother about rousing a roommate for making late night calls with Jaime.

Oh, will her brain finally stop?!

“Do you sneak in guests sometimes?” Hyle goes on to ask.

“ _Guests_?”

“You know, to spend some _quality time_ with,” he says, drawing closer to her. "I mean, you got better opportunity than most of us."

Something must be in the drinks.

Two guys in one night who try to flirt with her if she is not mistaken in what he means by "quality time". 

No way.

One guy alone is already a thing of impossibility.

Because Brienne checked, she really did. The face that looked back at her in the mirror was by far not pretty enough to make two guys, three if you count Bushy, flirt with her.

“Oh, well, a friend of mine slept over a few times, but that was because he needed to get some papers from university and didn’t want to rent a hotel room and a car,” Brienne replies, halfway lies. Jaime slept over more often than that, but that was the last time.

That was one odd sleepover – because Jaime refused to sleep on the couch, as always, and kept sneaking into bed, only to be tossed out whenever Brienne caught him.

Only to wake up to have him wrapped around her – and Brienne smacked him really hard that time.  

And there we go again...

"A friend of yours? Like... your boyfriend?"

"No, not my boyfriend. Though he is a boy, a man... it's... sorry," she stammers. Just why did she have to bring that up? She should have just said that she had Sansa sleep over a couple of times.

What impression is he supposed to get of her?

"He's finished his degree over a year ago. So, ugh, only other girls from the dorms will sleep over every now and then if we have a movie night," Brienne adds quickly, hoping that she didn't just destroy what could have been... a moment, is it?

“You know, we could make our sweet escape and spend some more time by ourselves, too, if you liked,” Hyle goes on, his hand now on her waist.

So it is a moment after all and she didn't just mess it up with her mad rambling?

Those drinks must be wickedly strong to make that happen.

“But the party only just started,” Brienne argues, turning her head in direction of the house. She only had one drink so far. She thought she’d get to listen to some music, chat a bit… that was not her agenda, really.

It didn't even occur to her that she would find herself with a nice guy, standing under an old oak, the stars above them...

This sounds way too much like out of the movies - and Brienne knows people like her are not cast for the main roles or love interests.

Mannish women don't sell.

“I guess I have to tell you a secret."

"A secret?" she repeats, feeling anxiety rise inside her like a giant wave about to crush her from the inside out.

"Truth be told, I only invited you so that I would get to see you. I don’t really care about the party, you know,” Hyle explains.

“The people seemed nice,” Brienne says, not knowing what else to say, though she feels relieved that _this_ was the secret, and not something entirely terrible. 

He invited her to be with her?

Yeah, talk about how guys don’t do that, Jaime, huh?

Hyle takes her hand into his, and Brienne tries hard not to remember how Jaime once… but that is when she feels Hyle’s lips on hers, warm and wet, and Brienne just loses the thread.

Normally, she would pull away, but she is angry with Jaime, and if she can tell him that Hyle invited her only to be alone with her, he will boil with cold fury. And Hyle is nice. He was never mean to her.

And he is _not_ Jaime, that’s one huge plus.

Hyle presses her against the oak as he goes on kissing her mouth sloppily. Brienne tries to forget about all that, though, She tries to block out the tree bark biting into her back, probably messing the dress, and the fact that Hyle’s kissing skills are… _average_ at best.

He is nice, she reminds herself however. He is nice. He wanted to be with her, and he is nice. He is kind. He saved her from that groping dude back inside.

_He is nice._

Maybe she just has to get to know him better?

Brienne is interrupted in her thoughts when she feels his big hand sneaking under her dress. She puts her hand on his arm to push it back down, but he tries another time.

“I don’t want to do that kind of thing here,” Brienne mutters, pulling slightly away.

“Oh, c’mon,” he groans. 

“I said no.”

Hyle sighs, pulling away even more, and Brienne already starts to feel bad. 

“We could continue this at your place, as I said, if you don’t want to do it here.”

“I didn’t say I want to do that thing here or anywhere else.”

“What now? We kissed just now.”

“Do I have to give you an update on how that doesn’t mean I automatically want to get intimate with you?” she retorts.

“… I didn’t mean it like that, sorry,” he replies quickly, apologetically. “It’s just… ugh, I thought you wanted it after all. You know, some gals are more of a tease.”

“It’s… alright. But, to clarify this, I am no _tease_ ,” Brienne replies stiffly. “It’s just that we don’t know each other well. Nothing against you.”

“Well, we could get to know each other a bit better now,” he says with a lazy grin, before he resumes kissing her. Brienne frowns against his lips. Something is odd about this, other than the fact that she normally doesn’t kiss anyone on her first date. But before she can finish her thought, his hand is back under her dress, way further up than last time. Brienne slaps his arm this time.

“What did I just say?” she demands.

“I just want you, sorry,” he mutters, leaning against her like a bag of wet flour.

“But _I_ don’t want _this_ , so you will leave your hands to where I can see them,” Brienne warns him, pulling away from him completely.

“But…”

“Just go back inside now,” she curses.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Just go.”

Hyle growls as he turns around and away. Brienne walks circles on the moist grass, hugging her arms.

That still doesn’t prove anything. That just means that Hyle invited her, expecting more. That doesn’t mean Jaime is right. That doesn’t mean she is wrong.

Brienne shakes out her limbs before she makes her way back to the house. She stops by the window, to see the guys in the kitchen, lingering over the beer keg, laughing, shoving Hyle around in a friendly manner.

“Seems like Hyle’s out of the game.”

“Hey, no fair, can still happen,” Hyle insists. "Gals change their minds all the time. Might be she just needs some more convincing."

 _Game_?

“Not gonna happen. You won’t win the wager, face it,” Edmund says, clapping him on the shoulder, feigning to offer comfort. 

_Wager_?

“Well, you weren’t successful either," Hyle argues. 

“ _You_ interrupted me, which was a dickmove, by the way.”

“She put your hand away before I ever raised my voice, man. She didn't want you, trust me."

“I told you, the woman’s prude. Or maybe she’s into girls after all?” Bushy chuckles into his silver cup. 

“But wasn’t she all into Lannister?” a man argues. 

“I think any gal is into Lannister," another snorts. "I think many guys are into Lannister, too."

“She was also into Renly Baratheon.”

“That dude’s gay as day.”

“Exactly." the first one nods. "Which is soemwhat telling, don't you think?"

“Well, I’d teach her how it feels like to be a real woman. I mean, looks can’t be changed, but uncharted territory would be nice for a change," yet another one says, making... clear gestures of just what uncharted territories he would mean to explore. 

“You just want the money.”

“That, too. But hey, in the dark all women look the same, right? Doesn't mean she can’t have a pretty cunt to fuck."

"You just say that because you normally only ever get to date ugly girls. You have to count on their cunts to be sweet."

"Say that again, asshole!" the man growls out before starting to chase the other, who screams in glee as they run around the keg.

A wager on who manages to convince her of having sex with one of them first?

A wager on who fucks her?

Brienne can do nothing much but stare.

This is happening.

This happened.

“Oh shit!” one of the guys cries out upon catching her standing by the window.

“Fuck.”

Brienne simply turns around and away from the window, trying to make herself believe that so long it stays behind the window, it won't get to her.

Like a message you don't open to read.

Like a bottle you leave sealed.

Because if she opened that box, let that close to her... no, just no.

Brienne starts to walk stiffly, her knees slightly shaking as she does. She just has to get back to the dorm.

To safety.

But that is when the world behind the window catches up to her as footsteps ring out behind her.

Brienne doesn't turn her head.

 _Just go away_ , she thinks to herself, screwing her eyes shut. _Just leave me alone. Just go back inside so that this didn't happen._

“Brienne, wait up!" she can hear Hyle call out."Please!"

Her feet stop, but her body still won't turn by only just an inch. She can feel her fists flexing to the point that her blunted nails leave crescents in her palm, but that sensation is more than welcome now.

She can hear him coming to a halt.

"Listen. That’s one huge misunderstanding!”

And that is all it takes to snap Brienne out of her stasis. Her eyes open wide as she turns on the heel, using her entire body to look even taller than she is by nature, strangely happy to see how Hyle ducks slightly as she plants herself in front of him threateningly.

She is long since past the point to care what he may think of her now.

Or any of the men behind the window.

Shall they believe her a monster.

Brienne is past the point to care.

“A _misunderstanding_? What did I _misunderstand_? The part where you invited me only to mock me? The part where your friends have a wager on who manipulates me into fucking him first? Or the part where you think I must be into women because no man would ever want me?”

“You know the guys. We say stupid things when we are around each other. That was..."

“And _do_ stupid things?”

“I do like you, that ain’t a lie, even if it may appear odd of me to say so now. It’s just… We had the bet before I got to know you,” Hyle says apologetically. “If I had known you a bit before, then…”

“First, you don’t know me, at all, or else you’d know that there is only one step between me and ripping your windpipe out,” Brienne snarls. “Second, it makes not a single difference whether you knew me before or not. You just don’t do that, to anyone!”

Hyle blinks at her. He probably thought that would do the trick.

Not one of the bright fellows, she was aware, but this is…

And just how dumb does that make her in turn?!

 “Or are you just saying so in the hope that this will convince me of you after all, so that you can win the wager after all?” she goes on, fuming. “Because that’d be even more pathetic than this is by nature.”

“The wager’s just a joke.”

“The joke is that you think I’m dumb enough to believe that. You treat me like a prostitute.”

“Now you are exaggerating," he argues. 

“ _Exaggerating_? You all paid for someone to have sex with me, did you not. How is that much different from a prostitute?” Brienne cries out, not caring who hears it, but then whips her head to the side. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it anyway. I bet the reply will be about as terrible as this entire thing was."

She never should have come.

She never should have.

She should have...

"Just go ahead and fuck yourself, Hyle.”

“I never forced you into anything you didn’t want.”

“I didn’t want a wager on who’d sink his cock into my cunt, that much I can say for certain," Brienne snaps. 

“You weren’t supposed to know!” he moans.

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“Look, this is all very unfortunate and you were not supposed to learn about it like that…”

“Or at all.”

“We can’t change it anymore anyways, so…”

“Just forget it, you mean?” she huffs. 

“You act like the hard-to-get for someone who…,” Hyle means to say, but that is when Brienne grabs him by the collar. “I dare you finish that sentence.”

For someone who is as ugly as her? She should be happy about guys making bets on who overcomes his disgust to fuck her?

And the stupid thing she is, she thought he was a nice guy.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

“You wouldn’t hit me, what would the people think…,” is all he gets to say before Brienne’s knuckles collide with his chin, sending him tumbling to the ground, moaning, writhing. 

Like a fish out of water, helpless, small, useless.

“Shall they think of me what they want,” she says, her voice shaking, her hand aching from the blow. “I don’t care.”

“You dumb bitch, you…”

But Brienne just leaves him to his misery, proceeding back to her dorm, ignoring the fuss forming around Hyle as the rest of the guys (and likely some of the girls) come to his aid, if too late.

She only stops once she is back inside, inside her safety zone, tears off her dress, not caring it she rips it in the process, feeling as though it suffocates her. Brienne lies down on the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain in her wrist, fishing her phone out of the stupid clutch Sansa insisted would fit nicely with the stupid dress.

10 missed calls.

17 unread messages.

All by Jaime.

All about wanting to reconcile.

About the party.

Brienne feels the prick of tears in her eyes.

**_Jaime_ ** _: Send me a text once you are back from the party, ok?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Back now._

She waits for about a minute until the screen lights up again.

**_Jaime_ ** _: How was it?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Good. They had tasty cocktails._

**_Jaime_ ** _: What about the guy who invited you?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Seems he had a little crush on me. Didn't have a crush on him, tho._

There is a longer pause before Jaime starts typing again.

**_Jaime_ ** _: So everything ok?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Was a nice night out. Can’t complain._

**_Jaime_ ** _: Wanna Raven a bit?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Sorry, wore high heels, can’t even stand anymore, let alone sit. Need to stay in bed._

**_Jaime_ ** _: Morrow?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: If I can squeeze it in, sure._

**_Jaime_ ** _: Sure you’re alright?_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Perfect._

She won’t give him the satisfaction of feeling proven right. Seven Hells no.  

**_Jaime_ ** _: About the video chat…_

**_Brienne_ ** _: Let’s just forget it. Look. I’m tired and tipsy. Just wanna grab some shut-eye if that’s ok._

**_Jaime_ ** _: Sure._

**_Brienne_ ** _: Maybe till tomorrow then._

**_Jaime_ ** _: Hopefully._

Brienne tosses the phone on the other side of her pillow, leaning her head back.

She never should have gone.

Just why did she go?

Just why did she practice if that is the result?

Just why can't she ever get lucky, safe for having her room to herself?

And just why can't she help but wish for Jaime to be here to comfort her right now?

* * *

 

Jaime mutters some incoherent curses to himself as he tosses his phone on his couch.

Sure as hell the wench is lying to him.

And sure as hell she is just too stubborn to admit it.

… And sure as hell Jaime doesn't care because he has the feeling that whatever happened that night was far from “good” and “nice”, just like Jaime is most certain that Brienne is anything but feeling “perfect”, because she never writes that everything is perfect.

And the woman should know that he knows.

Jaime groans. This is ridiculous.

Back when he was still at college, things weren’t that complicated. There was no reading between the lines from sporadic text messages. He only had to look at her freckled face once to know exactly what she was up to inside her stubborn head. It was a language he learned easily, and privately, just for himself. Jaime prided himself with it because most people get Brienne all wrong.

They think she’s a butch – and while she is most definitely not shy or hesitant about hitting you square in the jaw if you act like a dick to other people or dare insult people she values highly, Brienne is not that at all. She is all squishy beneath the layers of steel that make up her spine. Where the classical butch would be harsh in tone, she is soft-spoken. Where you’d expect to get smacked, there are tender touches, like that of a feather almost, and that despite the calluses that come from training.

They think she is aloof when in fact she is very insecure about herself, which makes it hard for her to get into contact with people.

They think that just because she can knock men into the dust at will, that is the only thing she cares about, when in fact training is about herself and not how many men she can beat up.

They think her being tight-lipped is because she doesn’t like to talk – and Gods know they are wrong about that. Brienne has tons of stories to tell and things she is passionate to talk about for hours, but she doesn’t like to talk about topics she knows nothing about, and she only talks to people she grew accustomed to.

They think she doesn’t like to laugh, when Brienne simply made a habit of it not to smile around strangers after her stupid Septa hammered it into her brain that it made her look even uglier. And while, to be sure, it doesn’t make her prettier, Jaime can say for certain that her smile is contagious and makes her big blue eyes spark up like a distant star.

They think of her all the things that she isn’t.

And Jaime, until he got past those layers of misunderstanding, until he started to comprehend the language she communicated in without even knowing of it, thought the same.

But he was proven wrong and simply learned the new language – and didn’t stop until he was fluent.

And now it’s as easy as breathing to read her private language, and the language they developed only amongst themselves.

But all of that grew much more difficult now that he is in Casterly Rock while Brienne roams through Oldtown’s libraries. Texting and Ravening are the few means they have to keep in touch, but the thing is that they don’t really touch anymore, at least it doesn’t feel like that.

Not that Jaime is unaware of the fact that they cannot physically touch, but the words feel disconnected every now and then, while that wasn’t the case so long they texted each other when he was still on campus.

The immediacy is gone. While both try to reply in time, they just don’t know if the other is working or in a lecture. The flow is gone, the momentum lost, the messages become more encrypted, and more and more is left between the lines blinking up on the screen.

Jaime sighs as he gets up from the couch to walk over to his computer.

He actually wanted to go over the results from another lab test they ran on the antique sword, but in fact he spent the rest of his evening checking his phone like a stupid teenager.

“Better get that done before morning,” he sighs, flexing his right wrist a few times as he goes through the folder in search for the document.

 _Ugh_. Bronn makes a sport of it to give files the wrong titles. Probably only just to annoy him. _Very likely_ only just to annoy him.

“Gods, not even the right file format,” Jaime groans. He scrolls down the window to see if something sparks up, but then he stops at that one image file he almost forgot he had there. Jaime double-clicks on the image, chuckling softly at the perhaps rarest documentation in current history – a picture of Brienne of Tarth smiling into the camera, arm slung around his shoulder.

They were on an excursion at Dragonstone, to have a look at the sculpting techniques and statuary found only there, with the typical dragon motif. Jaime had bought a cheap throw-away camera after he forgot his fancy equipment at the dorm when they took off, and he wasted pretty much all of his shots on annoying Brienne out of her mind, photographing her from behind, from the side, the back the front, while she made a sport of it to not even turn her face towards the camera. Well, it was the last frame on the camera, and Jaime had asked _really_ nicely. So she took the camera from him, the two kind of wrestled over it – and somehow this curiously perfect shot happened.

Brienne doesn’t look like a supermodel, but in this picture… you can just see her, as she really is.

Smiling.

Positive.

Something shining just beneath the surface.

A gem without a cut.

So yeah, a rare moment in history to remember and preserve, even if Dragonstone itself was a conglomerate of very different experiences. 

Jaime shakes his head as he minimizes the window, opening his web browser as an idea pops into his head, starts to form until it's round and bloody well perfect.

A few clicks later, a smile spreads across his face. Seems like he has to take a different approach to things.

He chuckles to himself as he goes searching for the lost file again, until, at last, he catches sight of it.

“Seriously? Swordheartpenis.jpg? How is that guy even real?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, I obviously changed timelines here to pick up on the wager at a different time. I just like the idea of having it in here. Such drama!


	3. Message Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets a surprising phone call when all she wants to do is work out a bit. 
> 
> Things get... a bit more twisted from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, for commenting and kudoing, you are such lovely people. 
> 
> Hereby the next chapter. 
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

Brienne lets out a long sigh as she sits on the edge of the bed, lifting a medium sized weight to train her left. Her right wrist is still giving her some trouble, so she focuses on the other limb instead. She went to the nurse the day after the night that should be forgotten. Nothing broken, just a mild sprain and some cracked skin. Nothing new to Brienne – years of boxing and martial arts gave her a fair share of just those injuries.

Even if those came without humilation as this night did.

She reckons that most other girls would have crawled under the covers, but she is just not the type for it. Brienne likes to work out instead. That gives her a sense of control over herself after situations where she felt powerless or not in charge of herself.

Ever since the night, the guys gave her a wide berth whenever they caught sight of her. There are whispers again, and Brienne is sure that it’s all about Brienne the Beauty, Brienne the Monster, the Man Destroyer, the Chick Who Can’t Even Get Laid if there is a Wager. But Brienne learned by now to keep her head high even when she feels like ducking away. They only win once they feel like they broke her.

And she won’t let that happen.

They are not strong enough by any means.

Brienne simply tries her best to stay focused. It’s only a couple of weeks till finals, and that means she just has to pull through some last agonizing days before this is over and she will only ever have to come back to pick up her certificates.

The blonde woman is just about to start the push-ups when her phone buzzes. Brienne sighs as she straightens back up to pick it up from her desk.

She frowns at the screen when Jaime’s self-chosen profile picture flares up on the home screen (she had one chosen for him, after all, it’s _her_ phone, but he kept invading her cell to change it into pics of him making the most ridiculous grimaces until she told him he could pick one and never change it again, to which he readily agreed). Jaime _normally_ never _calls_. He usually sticks to text messages or Ravening, something that Brienne readily agreed to. For some reason, phone calls make her anxious. She can’t see the person talking. With Ravening, you have at least a rough idea on what the other person looks like, if the tone matches the facial expression. Text messages are easy enough because you don’t have to keep your intonation in check, so she was more than glad when Jaime voiced the same preferences.

“Hello?”

“Ha, I already feared you wouldn’t pick up because you hate phone calls.”

“Well, why exactly are you calling if you know that?” Brienne asks with a frown, smoothing some loose strand of her hair back.

“Because I got stuff in my hand and can’t properly type.”

“Well, we can also talk later…?”

“Or you could just come to the door and open up.”

“What?” Brienne gapes, but that is when she hears a knock on the door.

“I did that with my foot and almost lost what I had in hand, so if you were so kind, wench?”

Brienne walks over to the entrance stiffly, opening the door to have Jaime standing before her in the flesh, all smug smile, the hair (perfectly) a mess, a few beads of sweat standing on his forehead, and quite a few bags over shoulder and arm.

Brienne can do nothing but gape at him.

“What? No welcome back home hug? I am disappointed!”

Brienne still tries to process the information that he is before her. Her body is in fact faster than her and simply reaches out to take one of the bags short before falling down from him.

“Ah, thanks,” he sighs happily.

“What… are you doing here?” Brienne brings out.

“I decided that if the wench won’t come to the Rock, the Rock must go to the wench,” Jaime explains with a drawl.

“Don't call me 'wench',” Brienne argues automatically, though it’s lacking the impact.

“Fine, then if _Brienne_ won’t come to…”

“I got it,” she cuts him off. “But… what I don’t get is… _why_.”

“We’ll come to that in a minute. I want to rid myself of my luggage first, if that’s alright?”

Jaime shuffles into the room to toss the bags next to Brienne’s bed without wasting another second and she can do nothing but stare at him as he does so.

That’s the thing with Jaime Lannister. He just invades your life and takes over. And while Brienne is aware of that by now, this still comes as a total surprise just now.

After all this time…

“So now. Explain,” Brienne demands.

“Actually there is not much explaining necessary. We didn’t see each other in ages. And I got some announcement to make that I thought would be better to do face-to-face than… raven-to-raven or whatever.”

He flops down on the bed, gesturing at Brienne to sit with him, but she holds out her hand to him instead. “I think I would like to stand. I…”

Brienne doesn’t get to finish the sentence when he suddenly grabs her by the wrist to pull her closer. And it is only then that Brienne realizes that she extended her bandaged hand to him.

Well, damn.

“What happened to you?” Jaime asks, his voice somewhere between soft and demanding, one thumb absently stroking over the back of her hand as he goes on inspecting it.

“Small sprain, nothing serious. I saw the nurse. No worries. It’s nothing,” she replies, feeling heat rise to her cheeks and the back of her neck.

“How did you come by it?”

“Punched something – hard,” Brienne replies curtly, pulling her hand away at last.

“Something or _someone_?” Jaime asks, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“Something.”

“ _Someone_ , then. Who?”

“Stop it now!” Brienne cries out.

That only makes her think back to the night she wants to forget. And the night she doesn’t want Jaime to know about at all.

“What?”

“I’d rather have you tell me just why the Seven Hells you fly all the way from Casterly Rock to here, without _any_ sort of announcement.”

“It’s weekend and my family is a shareholder of Oldtown University. They can’t tell me to leave even if they wanted,” Jaime chuckles. “And of course the professors love me for my research - and my charming character!”

“That’s not what I mean. You know, if you want to drop by, you could have left a message beforehand, like any other normal person would have.”

“You didn’t want to Raven,” Jaime argues.

“I was available by text. We texted the week,” Brienne retorts.

“Sporadically, I may add.”

“I was busy.”

“With beating _something_?”

“Why are you here?” Brienne sighs.

No five minutes back, and he already gives her a headache.

“I think you told me that you haven’t settled for a thesis yet, right?” Jaime asks bluntly.

“I am in the final stages of signing up, but yeah. But how is that relevant now?” Brienne asks, making a face. This starts to make less sense with every second passing.

“Well, I told you about that fancy sword we found, correct?”

“Yes?”

“And I bet that ever since I told you, you checked out webpage for new info. As you kept asking me for new input.”

“Well, crucify me for having interest in what may likely be one of the biggest discoveries of the century.”

“Exactly,” he muses. “So it’s no secret that you’d like to get more information on it, right?”

“Sure?”

“The amazing man I am, I got it all figured out now. It took a bit of tweaking and phone calls with some staff members, including Prof. Aemon – and Gods know that guy likes to talk cryptically, for _long_ – but I think I found the perfect thesis topic for you.”

“You… found a topic for my thesis?” Brienne can do nothing but gape at him.

“Well, it’s actually a dual sort of thing. I talked to Aemon before I caught my flight to Oldtown. After some negotiations, he agreed to it. You can write your thesis on the sword and its background, using the latest findings that will only turn up in future tests – accompanied by a field study you’d help me conduct over at the institute. You’d even get extra credit for it, because it would basically be a joint project that is accompanied by an internship at the faculty I happen to be a shareholder in as well now.”

“Wait, so you are trying to tell me that you just made arrangements for me to throw the work I already did on my thesis into the trashcan, start a completely new topic, move to Casterly Rock to finish my degree there in what? A few weeks? And…”

“Aemon said that you’d get an extended period of time to finish, since the sword only popped up just now, you obviously couldn’t have suggested that as a thesis before.”

“Even if so… you just decided that I will have an internship at Casterly Rock?” Brienne demands. Jaime frowns at her.

That was not the reaction he thought he’d get.

At all.

“We talked about this before. You said that you didn’t have anything just yet.”

“Yeah, we agreed that if something popped up in your department and I didn’t find anything on my own, I’d do my internship at the Rock, but at no point did I say that I absolutely want to relocate to Casterly Rock for my studies and field work.”

“So you don't want to work with me?” he asks, now honestly feeling hurt a bit.

“I did not say that, but you should see that it’s a bit of a rush?!” Brienne argues, gesticulating.

Which is an understatement. He just rolled into her future plans with a bulldozer.

“I took matters into my hands. Look, it’s not like I had it planned in that way – because the sword only popped up recently. But that would solve some many problems. You need an internship. I can give you one. And now I know, it may sound shitty to have me for a boss, but I promise to act civilly.”

“You don't get anything, do you?” Brienne snaps.

“What now? I thought you’d be excited!” Jaime argues.

He thought she would…

That this would…

“I am _not at all_ excited! I didn’t ask for this!” Brienne shouts.

“I am making an offer,” Jaime argues. “An offer others would murder for, I may add.”

“No, you present me with a fait accompli.”

“What?”

“You already talked to Aemon. You already made arrangements. You likely have the papers with you already, as I know you. Without consulting me _only just once_!”

“It’s just an offer, if you don’t want it, you can leave it alone. I just had to act fast because this only popped up just now – and I thought it’d be better to make arrangements as fast as possible so that, in case you’d agree to it, you could get started once the courses are over,” Jaime argues.

“One phone call, Jaime! One damn phone call to sound out if I was interested before you do all of that!” Brienne growls, not knowing how else to deal with her anger.

Now Jaime, of all people, is also trying to rip control away from her?

That just isn’t fair.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“Did I ever state that I liked surprises?! And that is nothing you make surprises out of! This is about my career, my future! You can’t just make the decisions for me.”

“I made no decision for you. What are you saying?!” Jaime retorts.

“What do you think will happen now, even if I stuck to my original plan? You know Aemon, he’d keep poking me to join you because he’d find it a _great chance_ for me and everything.”

“Because it plainly is. This sword is everything you ever wanted, career-wise. You get to discover…,” Jaime means to say, but she cuts him off harshly, “I don’t care. I understand that part. I _don’t_ understand the part where some devil must have possessed you to make you think that you can just jump in and out of my life as you please and play decision maker! Just because it’s a good chance doesn’t mean that you get to take it for me.”

“You can just choose against it.”

“And disappoint everyone? Wow, great, THANK YOU. Aemon will hate me for it. You will hate me for it. Everyone is going to be like: ‘She let go of the chance in a life time, the silly goose’,” Brienne growls, throwing her hands in the air, breathing hard.

This is terrible!

Isn't it enough that she has to feel stupid for the party?!

“I wouldn’t ever hate you for it. I never could,” Jaime insists.

“It doesn’t matter! You do realize that this puts me in a very bad light? Seriously, Jaime, what devil possessed you to just… do that?! I thought you knew me,” Brienne looks at him with her big blue eyes and Jaime can see how wounded she is.

Just what the hell is wrong here?

By now he thought she’d hug him and tell him his thanks.

Would tell him…

“Because I know you. I know that this is what you want to do. We’ve talked about this again and again. I was sure you’d like it. I thought I was acting on your will.”

“You didn’t,” Brienne retorts.

“So you don't want this _at all_?!”

While Jaime prepared for some initial reluctance, he still thought she'd be open to the idea, at least.

“I don’t want it _like this_!”

“Seven Hells, you are complicated,” Jaime groans.

So she wants it but she wants it in a different way? Just what difference is that supposed to make? And here he thought Brienne was easier in that regard because she is not one of the girly types who always want to play riddle-master and say one thing to imply the other.

“No, _you_ complicate things _for me_. You can’t just… you don’t have control over my life.”

“I don’t assume it.”

“You do it by calling shots on my career choices,” Brienne insists.

“I think you are exaggerating, Brienne.”

“Don’t say that!” she shrieks, way too loud, she knows. But it only brings up memories of Hyle and how he said the same thing.

She isn’t exaggerating. She is feeling that way. Just because she is someone like “the other guys” in many aspects of life doesn’t mean she isn’t like a girl in some regards after all.

And she thought Jaime got that.

She thought he got her.

“Brienne, just what is wrong here?” Jaime asks, his tone somewhat softening now.

He knows that sometimes she… reacts in ways you don’t expect, but this is very different from all the possibilities he imagined beforehand.

And he has a bad feeling that there is much more behind this than she lets on.

“All of it is wrong! This is not how it’s supposed to be! Dammit!” Brienne hisses, turning on the heel slightly to the side, twisting her hair between long, callused fingers to feel the relieving pain of the roots of her hair pulling on her scalp.

“Okay, just what memo didn’t I get? I thought this would… I thought you’d be happy.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Brienne grumbles.

“Will you just tell me what the Seven Hells is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me is that you show up here with…,” Brienne wants to say, but then sucks in a deep breath to turn back to him, her face blank. “You know, forget it.”

“Wait, _now_ we _forget it_?” Jaime gapes at her.

“Yes, we forget it. I don’t have the time or the nerve for it. Thank you, but no thank you.”

“And that’s… it?” Jaime asks, blinking at her incredulously.

“That’s it.”

“Wow,” Jaime huffs.

That’s not at all what he expected.

At all.

“So, uhm, do you have a room or did you just catch a flight to tell me the news to get back to Casterly Rock in no time?” Brienne asks, biting her lower lip.

“You think I’d drag all of that luggage across campus if I had no intention of staying around a little while?” Jaime asks, deciding that he may have to take a different approach.

Because that one just now proved to be a fatal fail.

“Well, then call in Pod. He should be around now. He can help you with the luggage.”

“To where?”

“Your hotel?” Brienne replies, shaking her head.

“ _This_ is my hotel,” Jaime argues, gesturing at her room.

“What?” she gapes.

“It’s not like I haven’t done this before,” Jaime snorts. “So now, you really don't get to act all surprised, wench.”

“You could have asked?!”

Or rather, he _should_ have!

“Which would have spoiled my surprise that I was to come here,” Jaime argues.

“You are stinking ass rich and you still want to sleep on my couch instead of a pricey hotel? Just what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s the most convenient for me. The next hotel is about thirty minutes from here. Oldtown has one of the weirdest infrastructures and zero sense for tourism, you know that,” Jaime replies with an easy smile.

“Well, if you just gotta catch a flight back…”

“Well, as much as it pains me to admit, my lady, your presence is not the sole reason for my visit. I actually have to talk to some professors, including Aemon. Plus, because of the latest discovery at Casterly Rock, I am supposed to give some presentations on the findings, for the professors as well as the students later on. People are _aching_ for information. And you know that I hate to drive in the morning. I am half a corpse by that time of the day. So this is the best solution for everyone,” Jaime says, grinning. “And of course it’s the best for you the same way because you get to spend some quality time with me.”

“You are unbelievable,” Brienne sighs.

“I know.”

“Not that way, you smug asshole.”

“C’mon, I was always a nice roommate.”

“You are _no_ roommate, and whenever you slept over, you left the room a mess and hogged all the sheets by night,” Brienne retorts.

“Some people find that endearing.”

“Well, I’m none of those people.”

“Of course you are,” he chuckles softly.

“Well, can’t be helped, then,” Brienne huffs, hugging her arms. “So… you know where everything is. You won’t leave, for that I know you too well. But nothing prevents me from continuing my usual routine, so I will leave you to yourself now.”

“ _What_?! Your long lost friend reappears and you want to do what exactly without me?!”

“Run.”

“Away from me?”

“I should, but no. You know that I run every single day, and you won’t keep me from it. It’s enough that you can think you can decide where I am to move after my college time, so ugh… see you later,” Brienne quips.

“But…”

“Bye.”

And just like that she is out the door. Jaime looks around, raking his fingers through his hair.

That is not at all like he had it planned.

Inside his mind, it was bloody perfect. Brienne’s big blue eyes sparking up with happiness and excitement about the new task.

A hug maybe.

Or at least a squeeze of the hand.

And then…

But nothing.

“Ugh,” he groans before kicking off his boots and stripping out of his red leather jacket and jeans.

And here he hoped that he’d spend the evening celebrating the new arrangement with some lukewarm red arbor he knows she must have there because he hid the bottle there short before he left for no particular reason.

So much to that.

* * *

 

Brienne, meanwhile, tries her best to focus on running around the lake.

Jaime is back.

This is…

She doesn’t know just what this is. She just knows it leaves her more than uncomfortable and angry with him.

Just why did he have to come back now?

Like that?

At that time?

“Missed me?”

Brienne whips her head around – only to see Jaime jogging next to her, now in his sport gear.

This is…

“Just what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Needed to stretch the muscles after the long ride. I thought I might just as well do some jogging,” Jaime replies with his typical grin. “So I thought it'd be best to simply join you.”

“And you couldn’t take any other route but mine?”

“Why yes, you’d think that if your best friend comes back after over a year, you’d be somewhat more invested in spending time with said best friend.”

“ _Said best friend_ expects me to throw all of my plans overboard because it fits his purposes. So I think _said friend_ should understand that he is perhaps pushing his luck a bit,” Brienne retorts angrily.

“ _Said friend_ thought that his best friend would be a bit happier about seeing him back after all this time.”

“ _Said friend_ forgot to call before.”

“ _Said friend_ it would make a nice surprise,” Jaime says in more of a sing-song.

“ _Said friend_ seems to believe that we are part of a TV show where that actually happens. _Said friend_ doesn’t seem to understand that real-life people may react different to such things.”

“ _Said friend_ wanted to be spontaneous.”

“ _Said friend_ should just shut up,” Brienne grounds out.

“ _Said friend_ doesn’t ever shut up, it is known.”

Brienne opens her mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it – and simply picks up speed. She is just so done with all of this…

But there he is again, right next to her.

“Are we doing a race?” he asks excitedly.

“No, I just want to be by myself.”

“Running in company is much more communicative,” Jaime argues. “And it’s a nice way to make sure that you run at the right speed.”

Brienne runs faster again, but of course he is already on her heel. She growls as she speeds up to a full sprint. Her gaze is fixed on ahead, trying to leave everything (including Jaime) in her back, but that is when what used to be in the back is suddenly in the front, when past becomes present approaching.

On a motor scooter.

It's one of the guys who had the wager. Edmund Ambrose. That guy who first tried to land on her to win it. Brienne’s feet stop before she can even catch on to the information.

It’s as though he can feel his fingertips digging into her thigh, can see the smiles through the window, can hear the laughter, the comments, can feel her hand throbbing painfully from when she punched Hyle.

The memories of that night suck her right back in – only to crash into… _water_?

Brienne blinks, only now becoming conscious of the fact that she is sitting in the lake’s water, drenched from head to toe, and Jaime… sprawled over her unceremoniously, so she can feel his midsection contracting, rubbing against her own.

“Shit, you can’t just stop in the middle of the road when you make me do a race, wench,” Jaime groans. “I crashed right into you.”

Brienne just watches as the guy on the scooter laughs… and if she is not mistaken, Ambrose probably took a picture of them in this unworthy position. She tries to get up, but only falls back into the water because Jaime is not moving – and to make matters worse, breaks out laughing.

“Get off of me!” she grounds out.

“I am trying!” he chuckles, though of course he is not at all trying, now that he decided that he finds this all kinds of funny.

Brienne growls as she pushes Jaime off of her mightily, only to send him crashing into the water another time, and she curses him for looking like half a god even when drenched in water and mud.

“Oh, c’mon, wench, smile for once. This is actually kind of hilarious.”

“This is _not_ hilarious! This is horrible,” Brienne argues, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

Isn’t it enough that she was publicly humiliated by those guys?

Now also that!

“This is just water.”

He screws his eyes shut when a splash of water hits him in the face.

“Hey!”

“ _Just water_ ,” she hisses.

Jaime laughs out throatily, throwing his head back in delight.

“Maybe we should make a swimming session instead of a running session? Now that we are wet already…,” he means to say, but she cuts him off harshly. “Oh shut up already. This is all your fault.”

“ _You_ stopped in the middle of the road.”

“No one asked you to chase after me. Had you just jogged, you wouldn’t have knocked against me with enough force to toss us both off the ledge.”

“I wouldn’t have chased you if you hadn’t decided to start a race.”

“I didn’t start a race, you made a race out of it. I was just running!”

“Until you stopped in the middle of the road.”

“Okay, are you sure you didn’t just come back to Oldtown to drive me completely crazy?” Brienne exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose with her good hand.

“Not only, though of course it's always on the agenda,” he chuckles.

Brienne splashes more water at him.

This is ridiculous.

“Hey, stop now!” he calls out, chuckling. To his surprise, she does, probably realizing that she only encourages him. Brienne scrambles to her feet to get back to the ledge to climb back out, but her foot twists the wrong way in the mud, only to send her crashing back into the water – on top of Jaime this time.

“Ha, seems like you can’t bear without me after all,” he comments.

Brienne can feel one arm loosely wrapped around her almost out of instinct, or so it seems.

“Just shut your mouth,” Brienne growls, trying to sort out her limbs, eventually leaving her straddling his lap to somehow get back up. Jaime’s grin is ever the smugger.

“Well, you seem to enjoy yourself alright, as long as it takes you to entangle yourself from me,” he teases.

“You are incorrigible,” she grumbles as she tries to gain footing in the damned muddy pebbles on the ground of the lake, not even caring anymore just how that must look like for people coming by. She just wants it to be over.

Though Brienne is surprised when no more lewd comments fly out of Jaime’s mouth as he lies below her, and just looks at her with big emerald eyes.

Brienne huffs before standing up and slowly walking back to the ledge to finally climb back out. She turns back around to Jaime, who is still sitting in the water, leaning back on his forearms, lap, feet, arms, and midsection still in the water.

“Are you just going to stay there or what?” she calls out.

“I find it quite refreshing,” Jaime replies shortly, his smile somewhat different this time.

“You will catch a cold,” she argues.

“Nonsense. Just go ahead. I’ll catch up to you in a bit,” Jaime replies with an overly cheery tone.

“Alright…,” Brienne replies slowly before she starts to walk down the white-pebbled path and out of sight, leaving wet footprints behind. Jaime leans his head back with a small growl.

Well, at least she got up fast enough not to catch his… small situation below the water, for which she is most definitely to blame with rubbing her pelvis against him like that.

Just why did she have to sit on his lap, Seven Hells?

This woman is torture.

Sweet, sweet torture.

Well, at least the cool water is helping… solve that problem.

Jaime turns his head to see a bunch of girls walking down the white road, pointing at him and giggling. He holds up one hand and waves at them with a faux smile.

“Training for the next Iron Man, ladies! Nothing to see here!”

* * *

 

Brienne, meanwhile, made her way back to the dorm and hurries into the bathroom to get a shower to warm back up – and get off the mud. Normally, she would take a long shower, but she reckons that Jaime is only short behind, and she doesn’t want him to get any more ideas than he did anyways. That guy is way too much into teasing her only to see her get all flustered.

She exits the bathroom still toweling her hair, dressed in shorts and a loose shirt when Jaime knocks on the door with a mewling sound, “Lemme in, wench.”

Brienne rolls her eyes as she does so.

A man shouldn’t look that hot while drenched and covered in mud below the waist.

“Grab a shower before you leave mud everywhere,” she quips. “Because I won’t tidy up after you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckles before maneuvering into the bathroom.

“Just get going.”

“So, what was up with that guy on the scooter?” Jaime asks from inside the bathroom. Brienne gapes as she sits down the bed.

“There was one… so what?” Brienne replies stiffly.

“You know him, right?”

“Briefly, yeah.”

“So? What’s up with him?” Jaime asks, grabbing the soap to scrub himself.

Good thing that Brienne is not into the shampoos and soaps that smell of coconut, vanilla or bubblegum. She is more down to earth, which makes it no issue for him to just take her stuff.  

As he did numerous times before.

It does have its advantages when you are at one of the fancy private universities where you have a bathroom in your room, actually.

“Nothing. I don't know the guy at all too well. In fact I don't even know his name,” Brienne replies.

Or rather, she knows his name but would rather forget it again.

“Then why did he make you stop running?” he asks.

“He was at the party. I was just… surprised to see him. That’s all.”

“Do you like him?” Jaime asks, stopping to scrub to catch her intonation exactly.

“No?”

“No as in ‘I don’t know’ or as in…,” he means to say, but she interrupts him, “I don't like him at all.”

 _Good_. Jaime starts with the soap again.

He already thought that…

“So you hate him? Did he do something stupid?” he goes on.

“He _is_ stupid, that’s all I can say.”

“So I take it we are still not talking about it?”

“Yup.”

“What dress did you wear to the party?” Jaime asks, moving further down his body with the soap.

“What?!” she cries out.

“Hey, this was a novelty, right? You going to a party all on your own? As your best friend, I want all the details,” Jaime says in an easy voice, though his ears are practically glued to the door to catch every word she speaks.

This is ridiculous.

But then again, apparently that whole situation is.

So Jaime just rolls with it.

“I… the blue dress you forced me to buy for that meet and greet with the professors,” Brienne explains.

“The blue one with the broad straps and the short empire-cut skirt?” Jaime asks, his voice turning somewhat breathless towards the end.

“Yes?” Brienne makes a face. She won’t ever ask just how he comes to know or care about these kinds of things.

 _Yes_. Jaime lets out a small moan as he imagines her in the dress, calls her to mind in all detail. She had her hair a bit shorter by the time. When he forced her to try out dresses, he knew the moment she stepped out in it that it was the one.

And Gods help him that his cock still seems to remember way too vividly how thrilled he was at the sight.

Two in a day?

 _Yeah_ , this _is_ ridiculous.

 “You still didn’t tell me about the party,” Jaime goes on, now leaning his head against the glass of the stall, trying to think of everything but Brienne in that dress.

Or in the water, on top of him, dripping wet and…

Oh Seven Hells.

“I told you all that there is to know. It was rather dull in the end. Seems like I was right staying away from that kind of stuff. It’s just not my thing,” Brienne goes on.

Jaime just hopes she stays unaware of his strained voice for now, though gladly, the water from the shower serves as a nice distraction.

“You simply should have come with me whenever I asked you! I bet you’d be all into it then,” Jaime tells her.

So many missed out chances…

“I don't think so. Because that would mean I would have been forced to spend even more time with you,” she huffs.

“You wound me, woman,” Jaime calls out.

“And anyways, I didn’t have particular interest in seeing the chicks roam around you like bees,” Brienne goes on to say.

“I can’t help it that I am attractive!” Jaime shouts, though a smile now flashes over his features.

She is trying to shift the focus away from her, the little minx.

“I just say that it gets boring to watch after a while,” Brienne argues vehemently. “Anyways, will you see Hildy?”

“Why would I want to see Hildy?” Jaime frowns.

Hildy was most definitely the last woman he was thinking about right at this moment – or any woman other than…

“Because she was all into you back during the last semester?”

“Was she?” Jaime frowns, still trying to think of Hildy because it’s all blurry, not just thanks to the soap in his eyes, glad to feel the _tension_ leave him. 

“Do I have to remind you of the meet and greet after all? She sat on your lap the whole time,” Brienne replies.

“You sat in my lap just now, was that flirting, too?” he teases, laughing, but then having to swallow the laugh as another hot wave crushes through him. Though gladly, his member stays put this time.

“Oh, shut your mouth. _That_ was an accident. _Hildy_? Hildy rubbed her ass against your crotch as though a genie was going to pop out of your pants if she rubbed just hard enough. That girl wanted you. Bad. And for all I know, you liked that quite a lot,” Brienne says.

“She’s nice for all I remember, and busty.”

“Exactly. You remind me, did you take her home?” Brienne asks casually, even though both are aware that this is not exactly a casual topic to address.

“No?”

“ _Really_? I thought you did. Wait, you texted me that you took someone with you to your room. I remember that quite clearly,” Brienne argues, tapping her index finger against her lower lip.

She remembers a lot of things about that night. Her frustration over the bees hovering around Jaime so that she could only talk to Tyrion and Pod at best, and nurse some drinks alone at the bar. Hildy leaning in way too close so that there was less than an inch between her breast and Jaime’s mouth. Jaime laughing at all of her jokes that weren’t even funny. And then sitting in her bed, reading that message and feeling her heart sink for a moment.

“Just like I remember that you went off without even saying goodbye that evening, with some dude,” Jaime replies, making his disappointment no secret this time.

“What?” Brienne gapes.

“You well heard me.”

“I brought Pod to the dorm because Tyrion gave him from his flask and he didn’t handle the alcohol well,” Brienne argues.

“ _Seriously_? That was Pod?” Jaime makes a face.

That can’t be.

He still remembers quite vividly how he saw that guy as tall as her holding her by the shoulder with a big, fat smile Jaime wanted to punch out of him as they went outside, after any attempt of his to peel himself from the bees had failed miserably, leaving him with no other choice but to hang with them instead of Pod, Tyrion, and far more importantly Brienne.

“That was Pod, yeah. Oh, wait, no, _that_ wasn’t Pod.”

“I knew it!”

“ _No_ , the guy I walked out with was someone from the gym. Harry Hardyng, he’s all into Alayne, though she has problems that he has two kids from earlier relationships and doesn’t seem to care about them much, or so Sansa, as the Queen of Gossip, informed me. He came with a motorcycle, but someone had knocked it over, so I told him and we both went outside, where Tyrion was with Pod. From there, we three went back to the dorm. After that I walked back to my room and went to sleep early. But I didn't take him home with me, no.”

“Really?! I thought you…,” Jaime says, still trying to process this.

“Well, and what about you and Hildy, then?”

“I didn’t take Hildy anywhere. I think she eventually hooked up with what’s his face? Jonos?”

“But you wrote me that you had someone to spend the night over at your room with,” Brienne insists. She remembers that. Because, for some reason, it had wounded her. It’s not that he had someone that upset her. She was and is always happy for him because after all the trouble he had after… what happened between him and Cersei, but normally, Jaime knew to not rub it under her nose. They may have talked about it, but he wrote it as though it was a kind of accomplishment or something only written to cross her.

And that had hurt.

“Well, may have been that I was imagining things because I was dead drunk. I know as a matter of fact that I was alone, though,” Jaime lies swiftly.

He was more or less sober, he was just drunk on… being angry at what apparently happens to be Harry the Arse, which inspired him to send Brienne the message to let the wench know that he was not staying behind in that regard.

“I call this bullshit. Hildy wasn’t even the only one who flirted with you as though there was no tomorrow. What was her name again? Melara?” Brienne argues.

Maybe he didn’t take Hildy to his room, but one of the girls surely readily agreed to some intimate hours with the most handsome guy at college.

“I know Melara back from Casterly Rock. She grew up with my sister and they were BFFs until that… well-incident,” Jaime argues.

Brienne gapes.

That is… that is the girl he talked about before?

“You mean that’s the girl your sister pushed down a well to drown and would have succeeded in if the staff had not heard her scream for help?” Brienne asks.

“That’s the one. You see, we all know that my sister did that, but the Hetherspoons, gladly, didn’t sue us for it, though I guess they also thought they’d lose against the cavalry of lawyers my father would have unleashed. The point is that our family, ever since that incident, tries its best to be especially kind to the Hetherspoons, specifically Melara. The poor girl had a broken hip and had to sit on one of those rings for half a year. I mean, if even the great Tywin Lannister sees that we have to treat them nicely… then you do that when she pops up at a meet and greet,” Jaime explains.

He knows that Melara had a crush on him for a long time, but he was never really interested in her. His father was surprisingly open on the matter and said that he as well as the rest of the family were to act very politely around her. Because Tywin Lannister hates scandals to ruin the perfect family picture he tries to maintain (though it’s anything but true, but oh well…). So Jaime, whenever he sees her, lets her flirt however she pleases so long it doesn’t go too far.

“And Taena?”

“Oh geez. Taena is Cersei’s new best friend, which surely means that girl is in danger for all I know, and if my brother is right, then she is hot for Cersei,” Jaime huffs.

“For real?” Brienne asks.

“I don’t think my sister has caught on to that information yet, or is even interested, but… it seems to be the case, if you can trust my brother’s evaluation. I don't know. Maybe it’s just a Myrish thing, though,” Jaime says with a roll of his shoulders.

“Oh.”

“That’s what I thought, too. The thing is that Taena flirts like Hildy, mercilessly and with whoever is within periphery. Anything moving and breathing is up to hunt. At some point I am convinced the only reason why she is around Cersei is that she hopes that Cersei will get her a position in King’s Landing somewhere after she finished her degree,” Jaime explains.

“Which will _not_ happen, huh?”

“Not unless Cersei changed her mind about how she never wants to be charitable, which I dare to doubt…,” Jaime chuckles, but then his tone changes somewhat. “So does that mean we both thought the other was with someone else while in fact we weren’t?”

“Seems like it. Though that still leaves the question open just why you would send me a message like that,” Brienne argues.

“As I said, I was drunk. I may well have imagined it by the time I sent the text,” Jaime tells her.

In fact, Jaime remembers quite well how furious he had been, so before he could even think, he sent her the text not only in the hope of interrupting what Jaime thought would be a horizontal tango between Brienne and the gym-guy, but also with the intention of making her jealous, or at least aware that she wasn’t the only one who’d hook up.

Though this, as it appears just now, was even more stupid than he thought it was moments after he had sent the message. Had he been honest, she likely would have told him and they could have spent the evening together as they should have.

Great, just great.

Jaime sighs as he steps out of the shower, grabbing the next best towel to wrap around his waist.

“Which proves my point – you shouldn’t drink so much red arbor during those meetings.”

“Duly noted,” Jaime chuckles, putting on boxers and jeans before stepping out of the bathroom. Brienne looks at him for a longer moment before ducking her head away.

“Like what you see, wench?” he teases.

“I told you that you don’t get to walk around here topless for extended periods of time. Someone may always walk in and I don’t want people to assume things.”

“Well, they would assume that you have the hottest friend on campus?”

“ _Whatever_. Just put on a shirt,” Brienne grumbles, fumbling with her bandage. The stupid thing tore a bit on some shells in the lake to leave it now all entangled. She wanted to take it off in the show already, but no such luck. And handling scissors with her left is still giving her some trouble.

“Wait, lemme do that,” Jaime says as he pulls a red V-neck over his head. “You’re clumsy enough on your own, no need to take it out on your poor wrist.”

“I can well do that by myself, thank you.”

“Now don’t be so stubborn, wench,” Jaime grumbles, sitting down next to her and simply taking her hand into his to start to cut through the parts that keep the bandage from coming off. Brienne wants to pull away, but finds herself unable to.

She almost forgot how gentle his touches could be.

“Will you tell me whom you punched?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“I told you…,” she sighs, but he interrupts her, “And we both know you lied. Was it that guy from the lake?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“Someone else. You don't know him.”

“So a guy.”

“Yes, a guy. I don’t hit girls,” Brienne says, rolling her big blue eyes.

“That’s kind of sexist, you know?”

“Whatever. I don't hit them like that because then they’d lose their jaw. I fa girl were to attack me, I would fight back, but I wouldn’t necessarily punch her like that.”

“Ahhhh,” Jaime says, unwrapping the last layer of wet bandage. “Yeah, no, that looks like damage you get from punching a guy, true. Antiseptic?”

Brienne nods to the small heap beside her. Jaime takes up one of the swabs to make sure no mud or other bacteria get into the still healing skin on three of her knuckles.

“Did you report the guy to authorities?” Jaime asks.

“What? Why would I do that?” Brienne frowns at him.

“You don’t punch people for no reason. If you punch him, he must have done something wrong. So did you report him?”

“It was a private matter. It’s over now. He’s got his payback.”

“For what?”

“Jaime,” she mewls.

“You are my best friend and you’re hurt. I’d just like to know how you come by that injury, okay?”

“You mean that if I told you, you’d finally get a chance to smack that guy in the face, too?” she snorts.

“Something like that.”

_Or worse._

“Which is why there is no way that I would tell you. It’s dealt with.”

“Well, you don’t look like it.”

“What now?”

“If this didn’t bother you anymore, you’d react differently. I know you, Brienne.”

“It’s over for me. That’s all there is to it.”

“I thought we had no secrets?” he argues.

“Well, you’re the one to talk with making secret arrangements for me.”

“Not that again,” Jaime groans.

“ _Exactly_. You don’t tell me this, I don’t tell you that. We are equal again. Let us rejoice,” she grumbles.

“You know you can always come to me if you have such trouble, right?” Jaime tells her in a softer voice, his grip tightening only just a bit.

“I know. But I can well deal with such things on my own. I don't need you to protect me or anything.”

“You are very wrong with that, but fine,” he huffs, resuming the bandaging.

“What now? I can well defend myself. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Of course. But there’s a difference between being able to defend yourself and needing protection.”

“Whatever.”

“I mean that.”

“And I mean the ‘whatever’,” she snorts.

“Alright, all set and done,” he says. Brienne withdraws her hand slowly.

“Thanks.”

“No prob. Do you have the time?”

“7.30?”

“Oh shit.”

“What is it?”

“Aemon wanted to talk to me. I completely forgot the old man. I gotta head out and see him.”

“Well, you would have been on time if you hadn’t joined me for the run, so it serves you right.”

“Ha, I am still on time. And now that I got a proper warm-up, I won’t get muscle aches from the run to his office. And I even got to get a good, long shower,” Jaime chuckles, standing up. “Alright, how about I get over with meeting him and organize some dinner?”

“I gotta head out soon as well.”

“For what?”

“The group project I told you about?”

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?”

“Dunno. Around 9 or so.”

“Well, knowing Aemon, I will probably take just as long. So we could potentially eat together after all.”

“If you want. I don’t care.”

“My, you are really in a good mood.”

“After getting tossed into the lake, I get to be kind of bitchy.”

“As you will. Okay, catch later, then.”

“Bye.”

* * *

 

And just like that he flies out the door again. Brienne shakes her head, but still cannot allow to process the information of Jaime being back here, being back with her, and just what that does to her emotional states. Instead, she gets to her feet and rushes over to the door, making sure that Jaime already left the building towards the offices, before bolting down the hallways to get to the men’s dorms.

She checked the internet. Ambrose did not post these pictures anywhere that she knows just yet, and Brienne wants things to stay that way. Once it’s in the internet, it won’t ever go out again.

A quick message to Pod gives her the room number in question, so that she soon finds herself standing in front of Ambrose’s room, slightly out of breath, but not caring. She knocks on the door. There is some scrambling, some rumbling, and then the door opens to reveal Ambrose standing there, gaping upon catching sight of her.

“Oh shit,” he calls out, already meaning to shut the door, but Brienne already has her foot there. She pushes the door open with him standing little chance of holding her back.

“Hey, that’s _my_ room.”

“I want those pictures deleted. _Now_. Then I am gone again.”

“What pictures? I don’t know what you are talking about, woman.”

“We both know that you took pics of me in the lake. By rights, you were not entitled to take these pictures. So I hereby ask you to delete them and take them down from whatever forum you may have posted them already.”

“Why would I take pictures of you?”

“Ha, because I look ugly? Yeah, I caught on to that by now. But for that you groped me inappropriately enough. So let’s stop pretending. Look now, Ambrose. I don’t care about you or any of you fuckboys who started the wager. You can have your private laughs for all I care, but once this goes up on the internet, you violate my rights in ways that I will not accept. That means I will sue you. That means people will learn that you took pictures of an ugly woman like me. That means you will get yourself into trouble because my father is big into funding this university and happens to be buddy-buddy with half of the staff. I am willing to leave all of this here alone so long you delete those pictures right now.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“In fact I can because those are not your pictures and I did not agree to have them taken,” Brienne argues, before simply extending her hand to snap the phone from him.

“Hey, that’s my phone. By rights, you may not touch it.”

“Then delete the goddamn pics already.”

“What makes you so upset about some potential pics anyway? For all I saw, you were all into the hot guy sprawled beneath you. And now I do wonder what the staff would have to say about such public display of…”

“Don't even go there with me. First, try to make anyone believe that Jaime Lannister would bang Brienne of Tarth in public, in the water. Second, try to talk to one of the staff members by showing them evidence of a crime you committed, because no less is it to take pictures of other people without their consent. Third, and perhaps most importantly, try to sell that story to anyone with both of us having been fully clothed the whole damn time, Ambrose. Go kid yourself. You don’t get to threaten me.”

“For that you seem eager for those pictures to stay private.”

“Because I don’t want those pictures on the internet, because I did not consent to them being taken in the first place, especially from a dickbag such as you are one.”

“What will you do if I don’t give you the phone now? Call police? The security? Or Prof. Aemon? Oh, or Lannister?” he asks her with a dirty grin. “Or will you just do what you did to Hyle?”

“ _What I did to Hyle_? Oh yes, such a poor soul he is.”

“He said something and you punched him. Have you seen him? The guy’s face is one huge bruise. You can count yourself lucky that he didn’t sue you.”

“And you can count yourself lucky that I didn’t sue you all for sexual harassment.”

“That was not sexual harassment.”

“It was. And I have no trouble telling the authorities just what exactly you did and what I consented to. I don't say that it will get your thrown out. But I don't know how the ladies will react to hearing that you guys make a sport of it to place wagers on who gets to bang whatever girl first?”

“That wasn’t about girls per se.”

“Oh, just about the ugly, mannish ones. Yeah, I got that part, Ambrose. But make no mistake, I happen to be friends with some girls after all. And they will spread the news like wildfire. Sansa Stark is all into doing that kind of thing, and she is one of my best friends. Soon enough all of you guys will have to jerk off in the shower again because no girl will want to bang you because they will get the bad feeling that you only do that to win a wager, or even if not… you’ll simply be the guys who make wagers, which does nothing for your likability to get fucked, unless you screw each other.”

“Oh, shut your ugly mouth already.”

“Oh, did I wound you now? Such a brave man you are. But you get upset the moment on the ugly girl you thought you could control and talk down fires back? Just move the fuck on, Ambrose. Delete the pictures. Leave me alone. Then I leave you all alone, too. I am out of here soon enough anyway. Why make a fuss out of it when there is truly no need? I am ready to move past this – if you are. So now, open the files, delete the pictures and take them down from the internet if you have. That’s all I am demanding.”

Ambrose growls, but then opens the file folder, marks the pics in question and hits the delete button.

“Happy now?”

“No, not happy. I am not happy about any of this, as you might be able to imagine. You guys are nothing but pitiful, for all I care. So I am not happy, I am disappointed in you, and in myself for ever believing that you were anything but a bunch of fuckboys.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. You got your will. So now, off you go.”

“I wouldn’t want to stay anyway.”

“You want me to tell Hunt something from you?”

“Tell him that the next time he places a wager on fucking a girl and I get words of it, he will get more than a punch in the face. And you may just as well pass that on to all the other guys.”

“Man, people were right about you. You just never understand some simple fun.”

“Yeah, I am just a humorless brute. I am aware. That can’t be helped, I guess.”

“Bye, then.”

Brienne gestures at him before walking away, ignoring the mumbling in the hallway as she sees some of the men who were at the party approach Ambrose’s room at once.

She doesn’t stop until she made it all the way to the empty shack close to campus where the gardeners keep their tools to sit down behind it, sliding down against the wooden wall as the tears keep coming, hot and sticky.

She thought she’d feel better after telling Ambrose how to, but it didn’t.

She thought the murmurs would just wash over her, but they did not.

Because all she can think about is the picture of looking through the window to see them, hear them talking about her as though she was the most worthless creature in all of Westeros.

They keep echoing through her and there seems no way of stopping it.

And the worst is that she can’t talk to Jaime about it. Normally, talking to Jaime… helps (something that Brienne only later on realized – because she is very accustomed to never let her feelings show, but that changed once she befriended him). But she can’t talk to her best friend about it because then he’d know what went on.

Because if she tells him, he will be proven right. He will know that he is right. He will tell her that he told her so. She will have to admit that she was just a stupid girl, though she should have known better. That she was too stubborn and too blind to admit to herself and him that she was too damn stupid to see that no guy would like her in that way to invite her, to grope her like that or kiss her like that – and mean it.  

Brienne is just so done feeling humiliated, and she will feel humiliated if Jaime were to know. Because even though he will not laugh at her, he will treat her like a stupid child, like his little sister, he will scold her, teach her a lesson, and Brienne hates it when he acts like that because she doesn’t want him to see her as his sister or anything close to it.

She feels yet again like she is losing control, and Brienne needs control.

And Jaime doesn’t help in that, especially by making all decisions regarding her future for her, or attempting to do such.

And Brienne wished she could tell him just that, but that would only mean an even greater loss of control that Brienne cannot afford.

This is just such a mess.

Brienne leans her head back as she feels the tears dry on her heated, freckled cheeks, trying to control her breathing. This is not helping either, she knows, but Brienne rather cries once and is done with it than linger in that limbo for much longer. Jaime will only grow more attentive. It’s better if he gets to see more of the old Brienne again. Then maybe he will leave her alone about it – and she can just put this in the casket where she keeps all those other hurtful memories of when guys made her feel inadequate.

She looks at her watch. It’s about time that Jaime might be back from the talk with Aemon, so she gets up and walks back to the room, glad to find it empty, still, so she has enough time to splash some water in her face.

Brienne sighs as she glances at her own reflection. No surprise right there: still just good old ugly Brienne, freckled cheeks, straw-like hair, a nose that got broken one too many times. However, now she feels any damn urge to just punch the mirror so not to remind her of that one nagging thought – that this is still reality. The ugly woman who glances back at her – _that_ is real. The ugly woman no one wants to date, unless it’s to win a wager – _that_ is real, too. Real is that this is what others see in her, and will always see in her.

Which is to say that reality is… a bitch.

Brienne splashes more water in her face, dabbing one of the soft towels against her poofy eyes to calm the heated skin, because Brienne can’t bear the thought that Jaime may realize that she’s been crying, he’d only ask questions she doesn’t want to answer, or maybe even cannot answer… or would answer at once though she doesn’t want those truths to spill out into the world.

Brienne gets out of the room quickly and turns off the lights, turning back only just once, glad to find that in the dark, her reflection is not visible anymore because she is fed up with reality mocking her with the things she already knows, but still gets reminded of.

She maneuvers over to the bed and sits down to calm down to leave no trace of distress on her face.

Jaime senses these things straight away, she knows.

One time, maybe half a year into their friendship, she was very anxious about going back home after Brienne gathered from a phone call with her father that one of his companions would be around the same time she was on her break. Normally, he didn’t have them around for when Brienne was at Evenfall Hall, not because she would ever openly be against it – she is glad for him so long he is happy, but once the situation came… it left her _distressed_ for some reason, despite the fact that she is not one of the people who wouldn’t want their fathers dating again so he doesn’t stain the mother’s legacy. She just didn’t know how it would be like to be around that woman and she started to stress out about saying something wrong or acting wrong when around her or her father.

Brienne tried to forget about it, didn’t address it, and just kept pondering on it inside her head until she felt dizzy, but once she met up with Jaime for some project they had been working on together, he instantly asked her what was wrong. She tried to deny, but he couldn’t be convinced. And then something odd happened, because just like that, she told him, even though they were still not that close by the time. And to her even greater surprise, Jaime listened to it all, and then started to talk about how queer it was for him to learn for the first time that his father had escort ladies come to Casterly Rock, without anyone’s knowledge.

It didn’t necessarily make all of her self-doubts and uneasy feelings disappear, but she felt better after that conversation because she felt like she wasn’t the only one. That had helped.

But the thing she had to learn that day the same way was that there is no hiding from Jaime at some point. If he sees it in your face, he knows it at once. He may not be as expertly at analyzing people as his younger brother Tyrion, but he is very good at reading people nevertheless, and sometimes it’s almost frightening to realize that he can read her like an open book, because Brienne still wants to hide away at times. The thought of being so completely open to someone who is better at hiding than her by far is a scary thing, a dangerous thing, even.

Because Brienne oftentimes just doesn’t know how to read him in turn. Even if they are face-to-face and not just texting. She can look at him and see that _something_ is not the same as usual, but what it is exactly? She doesn’t know. She can’t read him. She is staring at a wall she can’t climb. He doesn't let on some many times, and it took Brienne a lot of effort to overcome her own anxieties to dare to keep asking, to keep poking, to be stubborn to get past some of those layers, some of those walls.

But even after they grew to be such close friends, there are walls she didn’t climb. He can protect that part of himself far better than she can. He can hide behind smiles and saying one thing when he likely means quite another, whichever it may be.

And every now and then Brienne envies him for it.

Sometime later, Jaime arrives with a plastic bag from one of the takeaway restaurants around campus.

“I have prepared our meals,” he proclaims dramatically as though he just summoned a dragon to attack.

“Yeah, you wish. I know your cooking skills are… a threat to humankind. I had food poisoning thanks to you,” Brienne huffs.

“A _mild_ one!” Jaime insists.

“As if that made it any better. I don’t even know how you did that. I mean, did you just put in rotten things or was just everything undercooked? I have no clue. So yeah, I very much appreciate that way of cooking instead.”

“So? Are we going to set up the table for dinner or what?” Jaime questions, looking around.

Candlelight dinner perhaps?

“The new season of _MaS_ is on tonight,” Brienne replies, nodding at the small TV she has in her room.

“Ha, I love that show!” Jaime calls out cheerily. “We should participate one day!”

“No way in the Seven Hells,” Brienne snorts, gesturing in defiance.

“So bed and dinner instead of bed and breakfast, nice,” Jaime chuckles softly before he flops down next to her, folding his long legs over the other as he starts to dig through the bag to fish out the packages.

No candlelight dinner, but TV-light dinner on the bed. There is worse.

“Did the group project go alright or did you do all the work again?” he asks

“No, no,” Brienne replies quickly.

Oh, right. That group project she handed in yesterday… though gladly, Jaime doesn’t seem to detect the lie this time around, despite the fact that he usually does. Though Brienne will be the last to complain.

While a part of her likes the idea that someone knows her that well, it’s also intimidating. That you cannot escape at some point. And Brienne hates being trapped.

“I will spare you the talk now, but consider it given.”

“Duly noted.”

“How did the talk with Aemon go?” Brienne asks.

“ _Long_. His litany about the sword made me believe that he was the one who found it. That guy might be of good heart, but he takes just too long to get to the point.”

“Did you schedule the presentations yet?”

“Yeah, for later the week. I just find it funny that they won’t just let me talk to the students straight away,” Jaime says wrinkling his nose.

“They want to make sure that you aren’t just full of shit,” Brienne replies with a roll of her shoulders.

“I guessed as much,” Jaime chuckles. “Oh, and I must scold you another time.”

“For what exactly?”

“You didn’t tell me about that official banquet going down at the weekend.”

“Because I don't plan on attending?” Brienne snorts.

No way in the Seven Hells will she attend anything but activities that are course-related. No parties. No banquets. Just studies, finals… and that intermezzo of _Maidens and Stags_ with Jaime, though Brienne has no illusions about the fact that this is short-lived. After all, Jaime’s impromptu solution to her thesis is not going to happen, or to her future life.

No way.

_No way._

“Oh, c’mon. The professors are there, and you can watch them dance! That is hilarious!” Jaime argues.

“ _Scarring for life_ , you mean. You forced me once – and that was enough,” Brienne grumbles.

“You always make it appear like I show you the fun things once and then you quit having fun altogether.”

“I am not in party mood,” Brienne exhales.

“You are _never_ in party mood.”

“I _was_ to parties.”

For better or worse.

“Oh, c’mon, that one time in this dingy grotto-club at Dragonstone? That doesn't count as a _party_.”

“I liked it there,” Brienne argues faintly.

That was one of the few occasions where she actually went on the dancefloor and didn’t fear for one of the guys to mock her for it, as she had it back during High School Prom Night. The two had gone there after the field trip where Jaime had chased her with his stupid camera for some godforsaken reason, not wanting to hang around with the rest of the group, so they searched for the one club where there was no trace of their course members.

That left them with little to no choice but that dingy underground club called the “Dragonpit” where you could hardly see your own hand if you raise it right before your eyes, because the staff seemingly believed that making smoke that thick would create the illusion of a true Dragonpit, instead of a pitiful example of a bar.

They got drunk on Black tar rum that tasted more like gasoline to the point that they stumbled the way back to the hotel after dancing and not caring… and then there was… but yeah, that was the tar rum more than anything else. However, the rest of that night? It was the one time Brienne remembers partying freely – because it was only them. No one knew them. No one cared about them. The smoke and air was so thick that you could barely see the person next to you. It didn’t matter how ugly she was or how ungracefully she likely moved. It was just dance and music sinking right into the bones, heat that made you dizzy, and the bad taste of rum on your tongue.

“God, that rum was from hell,” Jaime moans with a smile, leaning his head back to cover his eyes with his forearm.

Even if much of that night is fragmented inside his mind thanks to the rum, he remembers some images very clearly, some sensations – of being pressed against her on the crowded dancefloor, leaving no room for them but the tiny one they shared, moving to the slow beat as the smoke kept raining down on them. Of not speaking a single word, but communicating through the rhythm, the movement, edging closer and closer together…

But then other fragments come back and Jaime reminds himself that this was not as magical as it is within the fragments he still has flickering up before his eyes.

“It was. But yeah, I liked the club, despite the gasoline they gave us to drink.”

Even if the thereafter is usually not spoken of, upon both their request.

Because it was weird and just an attempt to escape reality.

And as Brienne realized yet again today, there is no escape from reality.

Though… truth be told, Brienne, for a long time, secretly wished that this night would have lasted forever.

“Well, Aemon _officially_ invited me and it seems that I can’t say no because people from other universities will come and all will want to talk about the sword. Because _everyone_ wants to talk about the sword.”

“Sucks for you, then,” she huffs, plopping some noodles into her mouth.

“You mean sucks for _us_ , right?” he argues, attempting to show his puppy eyes, but Brienne only almost chokes on her noodles.

“What?” she coughs.

“I can bring a plus one?” Jaime explains with an easy smile. Brienne swallows thickly to force the lump of noodles down her throat before replying, “Which won’t be me. Consider me your _minus_ one.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he moans.

Jaime has it all planned. After that first attempt proved to be a fiasco, he hopes to have better chances of getting to where he wants to be with that banquet. It’s bloody well perfect.

“Nope.”

“Even if I ask nicely?”

“ _Especially_ if you ask nicely.”

“Prof. Qyburn will be all over me. He is creepy,” he argues, shuddering for emphasis.

“And he’ll be all over _me_ then? One brave fellow you are,” she snorts.

“I just don’t want to go with those uninteresting people,” Jaime moans, leaning his head back.

“And _I_ am interesting? In fact, I am one of the few people you know practically everything about. That’s _not_ interesting.”

She is not interesting _at all_ – as her Septa reminded her again and again until it stuck.

“We didn’t see each other for so long, there’s all kinds of things I don’t know and that I need to know, desperately need to know, especially since I can’t stay here forever to poke you for all of the information you are sitting on as a chicken on her eggs.”

“Yeah, right,” she huffs, grimacing.

Just why does he care?

“I mean that,” he argues, now much more seriously.

And that is when Brienne can’t help but wonder if that still doesn’t mean something entirely else.

Those walls always obscure her vision.

“Just eat your noodles and watch the show.”

“… Who’s on this season?”

“I still fear that Pycelle is taking a weekend trip to the island,” Brienne huffs. “He’s out for fresh meat for all I know.”

“Oh God,” Jaime groans.

“Yeah, no, I think it’s some man from Bear Island after his wife left him for someone who was likely prettier and younger than him. Though rumor has it that he had to do with some bad, bad production in Essos including employees who received about as much as a slave. So yeah, might be he’s pretty shady though he looks kind of nice… if thirsty, for some reason.”

“And beside the guy?”

“A eunuch whose past is mostly a mystery. A social climber who is big into King’s Landing’s politics. It said that he may have been involved in some scandals about spying and exchanging national information. Oh yeah, and he seems to be into birds, at least it said that he is an amateur ornithologist. Varys. Right, guy didn’t even give his last name.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that guy from _the family’s side_. He seems shady enough for the show. And you do wonder just what a eunuch wants on such a show,” Jaime says.

By family’s side he means Cersei and her husband, whenever he is forced to be around King’s Landing for family meetings of that sort. Brienne knows better than to say something about it, she still thinks it’s better for him to distance himself at this point. He did far better ever since he drew a line under this whole affair.

“Oh, and Pod told me that Ilyn will also be there. I don’t know, is he his uncle? I’d have to ask just how they are related… Though it makes you wonder how they want to film single interviews with him when it is already known that he won’t have someone translating for him. Maybe they will put in subtitles. I don’t know. It’s an odd bunch, really. Oh, and that guy with pedophilic tendencies is also there – Baelish.”

“Oh _God_. This is going to be hysterical,” Jaime laughs.

“You haven’t even seen the chicks yet.”

“I can’t even wait.”

After that, the two simply enjoy the show, huddled together on the bed, as though there wasn’t a year separating them, and as though there weren’t all those secrets and words left unspoken between them.

At some point between the elimination ceremony and the rolling credits, Jaime turns his head to Brienne to talk about the ridiculous new candidates, only to realize that she dozed off, peacefully rolled into a ball, making her appear much smaller than she actually is.

Jaime chuckles to himself softly, putting the empty cartons of food away, being quick to decide that if he wants to spend at least one peaceful night on the bed instead of the couch, he’d do best just falling asleep as well. Then he can always pretend that he dozed off along with her.

Still not at all what he had planned, to be sure, but… now that he lies here, feels the familiar covers around him.

It’s nice to be back home.


	4. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime still wants to convince Brienne of his plans, even if new trouble keeps turning up to prevent him from making it sound like a solid idea. 
> 
> Brienne is less than pleased with how Jaime is going about it. 
> 
> Miscommunication and coffee breaks. 
> 
> I suck at summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and kudoing, you are a very, very, very kind readership, putting up with me despite the fact that I take forever (forever-forever) to update. For those of you who haven't read other fics of mine, I will repeat it another time: First I got caught up in real-life issues (wrapping up a degree, personal issues, full ride), and now I am suffering through what I tend to refer to as a selective writer's block, only allowing me to focus on very few fics while at the same time making me want to jump on a thousand new ideas, if that is making any sense (it makes no sense to me, but I long since accepted that circumstance). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy that chapter nevertheless. 
> 
> Sorry for the update times - and that I can't promise improvement in the near future, I am trying my best, I am, but I can't make any promises since my writer's block is a gigantic bitch, drinking creativity to the point that I make a sport of it to stare at open word documents with growing frustration and desperation *sigh*.
> 
> Enough of my wallowing in self-pity. 
> 
> Thanks and have fun (I hope)! 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

Brienne sighs as she shifts her weight from one side to the other on one of the old wooden chairs in the auditorium. Jaime is about to give his speech for the professors – and for reasons still beyond her, he _insisted_ that she comes along to help him with the technique, as though Jaime suddenly forgot how to operate the projector he used perhaps a hundred times by now.

But oh well, you help your friends, even if they apparently forgot the basics.

Waking up after Jaime came back was odd, really. Especially once it dawned on Brienne that both had dozed off on the bed while watching _Maidens and Stags_.

Or rather, _especially_ since she woke up and realized that she had somehow crawled over to him in her sleep to curl up against him.

Normally, Brienne would have just tossed Jaime out of bed (after all, that grew to be almost a small routine between the two because Jaime makes a sport of it to sneak into bed whenever he sleeps over), but she was the one who scooted over in her sleep, so that was not an option that included not drawing attention to herself. So she tenderly peeled herself away, carefully removed his arm loosely against her back, and slipped out of bed as silently as she could.

Though gladly, Jaime _really_ is a corpse in the morning, so Brienne has good hope that he has not a single clue of what went on this morning.

The familiar light yet strong footsteps pull Brienne out of her thoughts as Jaime strides into the auditorium, his eyes instantly on her, a smirk creeping up his lips.

“There’s an entire _horde_ of people outside the building,” he comments cheerily. “I feel so important.”

“A horde of professors, let’s beware of the danger,” Brienne snorts.

“Most certainly. They poke people with questions and pens!”

“So yeah… everything’s set. You just have to link your laptop and you’re ready to go,” Brienne says as she gets up.

“And where do you think you are going?” Jaime asks with a grin plastered to his face as he rakes his long fingers through his hair – looking still _way_ too hot because he doesn’t even try to style it, _dammit_.

“I thought you only wanted me to set up the computers and so on. I think you can handle it from here, even if you forgot how this works. It’s just plugging in a cable,” Brienne huffs. “I don’t think I have to do everything for you.”

“I actually meant for you to listen to the presentation, you genius. One of the convenient ways to smuggle in students is to have them set up the technique, didn’t you know?” Jaime smiles.

Seriously, just how long does it take this woman to get a hint?!

“Why would I want to listen to the presentation now and not the one you’ll give to the students anyway?”

“Because then you get all the information _before_ everyone else.”

Brienne sucks the inside of her cheek into her mouth. It would be a lie to say that she isn’t itching for information on the sword. After all, that is just up her alley in terms of her field of study. And of course… if she goes to the presentation now, she can bypass any sort of confrontation with some of the wager-guys who may attend as well, since some have subjects relating to the matter. And guys dig swords. So it might be they want to pop in even if it doesn't relate to their studies.

“Alright then. I got nothing better to do anyway,” Brienne says.

“Music in my ears,” he muses.

Brienne takes her seat a bit to the left, but from a spot from where she can have a good look. Soon, the professors roam in. Jaime is up to yet another round of shaking hands and charming professors. Brienne can’t help but wonder where Jaime takes that confidence from. He is no professor yet himself, but he acts like he is one of them, jokes with them, no trace of nervousness flitting across his features.

She wished she had his confidence at times.

That seems to make everything so very easy.

To know what you want.

To know what you don’t want.

And to be able to say it.

If she could say what she wants without…

Soon thereafter, the professors settle down and Jaime starts his presentation. Brienne’s eyes are practically glued to the screen as the marvelous sword, still completely intact, with lions on pommel and handle, rubies, richly decorated golden ornaments, and a blade of pure Valyrian steel, flickers over it like an ethereal figure.

Brienne still hopes that the tests will reveal that this is one of the Swords of the Long Night, wielded in the fight against the Others.

The fact that it’s Valyrian steel gives a good hint in just that direction.

And that it used to be Ice.

Because Ice was a broadsword that was big enough to bring forth two blades, or so measurements of similar broadswords affirm in terms of weight, density, and length.

Common consensus in the field is that the only sword that was produced from Ice was Widow’s Wail, because Widow’s Wail is the only sword ever mentioned by name in reports of the time, most notably in a document which listed the wedding gifts for the Purple Wedding of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell, which led to the King’s death, though likely gladly so, since his was a reign of terror.

However, this discovery may prove that indeed all of the Valyrian steel of Ice was used to forge another blade that was not documented – for whatever the reason.

To think of the possibilities makes heat spread in the pit of Brienne’s stomach in sheer excitement.

This could be the sister blade to Widow’s Wail that was lost over time, and then… forgotten.

And… if her prediction is correct, then the story goes further than that.

Because there is a story that caught her interest very early on in her life, caught on no more than some shreds of parchments, a story with more holes than solid plot, but still what Brienne hopes is one of the greatest stories of the time of the Long Night and the Spring of Reconstruction.

There exists a story within the holes, of a sword that may be this sword, a sword whose name was long since lost.

It is rumored to have been wielded by a lady knight who later on ruled the Westerlands with her husband, the heir to Casterly Rock.

Curiously, most of that story was lost over time, leaving only vague descriptions of her, but no name, and that of the Kingslayer, later on called Goldenhand the Just, in fragments of parchments. Even that man’s name is missing now, despite the fact that he must have greatly shaped Westeros during their reign in the Reconstruction period, and even before that. Because some traces of who the Kingslayer was are still intact, slaying Mad King Aerys, and being a decisive factor in the turn for the humans in the battle against the White Walkers during the Long Night along with his wife.

But that is what happens when a city like King’s Landing is almost completely burned to ash thanks to a Mad Queen rising and using wildfire to blow up buildings such as the Great Sept of Baelor, only to then have to withstand dragonfire, a huge battle including even the Dothraki and their horses, and the Long Night, leaving only some unburnt pages of the Book of the Brothers, fragmented accounts that were saved or brought away before chaos struck, and some slightly burned parchments to decipher.

Brienne still has the theory in mind that the two blades were both wielded during the Long Night, uniting the twin blades to some unknown cause, if not to perform a sort of ritual that actually had an effect, by Goldenhand the Just and his lady wife in armor. Though the current consensus in the field is that Widow’s Wail was secretly taken away sometime during the Fall of Tommen Baratheon and the shortest and one of the most devastating, yet bound to fail, reigns of all times under self-crowned Queen Cersei Lannister (coincidentally the namesake of Jaime’s sister…), though it is rumored that she only lasted a few weeks before she was cast down from the Iron Throne and died. They believe the blade was taken to safety to preserve for later – because no one knows just where the sword was until it was found hundreds of years later, on Brienne’s home isle, Tarth, in a small crypt close to the shore.

Brienne’s theory goes as far as to assume that Goldenhand the Just respected his wife’s wish to be buried on Tarth, since that is an old tradition that even her father heard about, and that he eventually decided that this is where he wants to have his eternal rest the same way, despite the fact that his grave should have been by Casterly Rock, his kingdom.

However, there exists no reliable proof for her theory – because the custom prevailed that bodies were burned, reminiscent of the chaos that was brought about by the undead, which could, surprisingly, be proven by now once the Others’ castle was discovered, or rather the remains of it, which left the scientists with some reliable material, preserved by ice, to reveal that something akin to _zombies_ was around there by the time of the Long Night.

The only thing that could be found in the crypt were two urns, one in enameled red, the other in enameled blue. And rumor has it that blue was Goldenhand the Just’s lady wife’s associated color, and not just reminiscent of the Tarth sigil, as is the current theory.

While Brienne does not yet know how to fit in the idea that the other blade of Valyrian steel remained in Casterly Rock while this one was taken to the grave on Tarth, she is still certain that one day, she will get to the gist of it. And truly, she hopes that Jaime will find some reliable information to prove her theory, or if not… at least to get down to the true story of Goldenhand the Just and his mysterious lady wife.

“… Are there any further questions?”

Brienne shakes her head, blinking as realization dawns on her that she drifted off to the vivid images she tends to picture when going through information relating to that topic. It was this issue that made her so passionate about history – because she grew up priding herself with being native to the isle where they found Widow’s Wail, one of the last legendary swords that still exit today.

She is not surprised that almost all professors’ hands shoot up to poke Jaime for all kinds of information. Though her thoughts circulate in smaller circles about the idea that maybe there are traces on the sword that would confirm that it was in the North at some point after it was originally forged there as part of Ice.

“You briefly mentioned Widow’s Wail, do you _really_ think there is a connection there? After all, it was found nowhere close to Casterly Rock, and currently, the state of affairs is that no connection was yet drawn between the swords beside having been forged from the same blade.”

Brienne tilts her head. She once told Jaime about her idea, and he said that he had similar thoughts regarding the matter, despite the lack of evidence up to date.

“I think there is a _strong_ connection there, but that will remain a theory until we have more valid proof. Especially since I did not get a permission yet to run further tests on that sword, in which case maybe you and the faculty can put in a good word for me?” Jaime asks with an easy smile.

That is one of those things that Brienne hates about the job. You would think that running some tests on those objects should be desired by all, but no. Brienne wished that Widow’s Wail was still in her family’s possession, after it was her grand-grandfather who discovered the crypt more or less by accident (apparently, that seems to be the way of making discoveries of the century these days, considering how Jaime came to find the other sword). While she is still convinced that it actually belongs in her family’s possession – because there is a curious gap in her family tree around the time of Goldenhand the Just’s reign that would suggest that her family may actually be distant descendants of just that lineage – laws these days make such discoveries national issue, which means it was moved to the next bigger institute, which happens to be Dragonstone, which happens to be run by Stannis Baratheon, whom Brienne doesn’t like out of principle, or rather, because she requested access to the sword for some tests already some semesters back, for her term paper, only to have a letter returned to her, pointing out to her that she used “lesser” instead of “fewer” and that this made the unacceptable request even a silly one.

Well, seems like Stannis treats even Jaime the same way. Lucky for him, though, he happens to work in the next best institute at Casterly Rock, which grants him at least access to the other sword.

“Any other questions?”

Brienne frowns once she finds his eyes set on her, as though he was waiting for her to speak up. She slowly raises her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Tarth?”

Brienne tries her best to ignore the professors giving her side glances for getting a shot at this before they do, but truth be told, she does not really care at this point.

“Did you run tests on the blade with regards to the whetstones or oils used? If there are any traces of where those substances may have been from?” she asks, licking her lips.

He shoots her an easy smile.

“In fact we did. Lucky for us, the sheath was also still intact and with the sword, which means that some particles of whetstones and oils could be found preserved within there. This sword must have been in several locations throughout Westeros aside from Casterly Rock.”

“Such as?”

“We found oils that could only be found around King’s Landing by the time, and some whetstone particles that point to certain stones that could only be found in the North.”

Brienne’s eyes flicker at the idea. Because if that blade was tended with whetstones from the North, it can’t be from the time when it was still Ice. Because then it wouldn’t be in the sheath, which was made later on. The sword was in the North sometime after Robert Baratheon’s Reign, that much is for certain.

And as though Jaime knows just what is going through her head, he gives her another smile before taking the next question.

After a long while, no more questions pop up, so Jaime closes the session, thanking everyone another time. Brienne is more than surprised to find Jaime hopping off the stage at once to walk over to her, regardless of the fact that he must be aware of the professors still wanting to have private word with him, but that is Jaime, he does whatever he wants at times, most of the time… nearly always.

“So? Did I make any empty promises on that magical sword?” he asks.

“We’ll have to see if it’s magical,” Brienne snorts. “But yes, it’s a fascinating discovery your janitor made.”

“Oh, c’mon. You can’t deny it’s itching in your fingertips to hold it and swing it around a bit.”

And he can’t deny he’d like to see her swing it… that would be quite a sight!

“I just hope that you get some reliable information soon. Maybe that is the way to figure out just what went on after the Long Night and the Spring of Dream of spring that followed during the reconstruction period. So many documents were lost during that time, or hardly written because everyone was busy with, well, reconstructing the world after it got almost wiped out by an army of the undead.”

“If we get proof for it, we could reshape history.”

“Well, then you better run those tests,” Brienne chuckles softly before she gets up from her seat, pressing her clipboard against her flat chest.

“You mean you want to leave me now?”

“Your presentation is apparently over,” she replies with a frown.

“Oh, _c’mon_. You could at least have the decency to wait up on me.”

“ _Fine_ , if you are quick about it.”

“You can invite me to a coffee for my awesome talk, too.”

“You are such a fine gentleman,” Brienne huffs.

Yet another of his strange habits – Jaime nearly never pays for a coffee himself, but always wants her to get it for him.

“Oh, wench, you wouldn’t know just how much of a gentle man I can be,” he says with a dirty grin.

“Gather your things or I will head out without you,” Brienne cuts him off.

“Yet again you wound me, woman, always leaving me behind like that,” he pouts. “You have no heart for poor Lannister men, do you?”

Brienne shakes her head as she gathers her bag from under her seat. A short while later, Jaime is settled as well – and manages to shake off the professors in the front rows with some easy replies and even easier smiles.

“Let’s get out of here before they invite me over for coffee over at Aemon’s office. I would never see sunlight again.”

Brienne just frowns as he grabs her by the wrist to pull her along to the exits, where more professors loom, probably to poke Jaime with even more questions.

“I am sorry, but I have an important appointment I cannot afford to miss,” is all Jaime says as he ducks down a bit to break through the gray mass of men with even grayer hair, and Brienne just allows herself to pull him along.

“Man, I am pretty sure that one professor whose face I haven’t seen before grabbed my ass,” Jaime grumbles once they are outside the building, spots of light dancing on his suit jacket like little stars.

“He didn’t grab your ass, Jaime,” Brienne huffs, slowly untangling her arm from his grip, feeling electricity shoot through her skin once the touch is lost.

“People want to grab my ass. My ass is a nice ass.”

“Or maybe you are just an ass.” Brienne rolls her eyes.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have a great ass.”

“That statement proves, however, that you are an ass.”

“I tend to call it confident.”

“Arrogant.”

“Self-conscious.”

“Insolent.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he groans.

“Well, you are arrogant, but…”

“ _But_?”

“Not the worst,” Brienne replies with a grin.

“Ahaha. Now that’s what I call a compliment,” he chuckles. They walk further down the path leading to his favorite café, like they did so many times while he was still a student there. It’s odd, really, to come back once you are done, even if you are not a professor.

“So? Are you having doubts already?” he asks.

“Doubts? In what regard?” Brienne frowns.

“The sword?”

“… I thought we agreed that we put this to rest,” Brienne replies defensively. She really hoped that he wouldn’t bring this back up again, but of course… Jaime Lannister is as stubborn as a mule at times.

“You said _you_ put it to rest, I apparently had no say in that,” Jaime corrects her.

“Yeah, bad feeling is it not? Not having a say?” she snorts.

“Oh, c’mon, Brienne. We could at least try to discuss this as adults would,” he moans.

“Well, _from adult to adult_ , you won’t talk me into it just by telling me that I am acting childish. You should realize yourself that this was not a good way of going about it.”

“Just because the way is not the best doesn’t mean the final destination still isn’t right. The rest is details.”

“The journey is the destination,” Brienne argues.

Because sometimes it matters how you say things, how you mean things.

Some things have to be discussed.

Some things have to be said.

But for Jaime, only actions seem to matter most of the time.

“Seriously?”

“ _Very_ seriously. Just like I was serious about it that I don't want to argue with you about this anymore. You are here for how long? Do you really want to spend the rest of your time being angry with me and me being angry with you?”

Because she doesn’t want to.

She is angry enough lately, with the stupid assholes from the party.

She doesn’t want to fight with Jaime.

She wants peaceful evenings with takeaway and _Maidens and Stags_.

And however stupidly or selfishly, she’d want him to stay a while longer.

But not if there is only fight and argument.

“Not at all. I’d rather discuss that without anyone being angry at the other.”

He’d want her to be happy about what he offered her.

He’d want her to be happy altogether.

Happy about…

“Well, it won’t happen. Because that whole premise makes me angry out of principle.”

“Seven Hells, there’s really no denying that you are a girl. Girls are always complicated when it comes to these things.”

“You make things complicated for me because you just drop that whole pile in front of me to sort out.”

“ _I_ got it all sorted out.”

He gave it thought, Seven Hells. He has it all planned, can’t she see it that he put a lot effort into it already?

He is trying, the Gods may help him.

“Did you sort out that conflict, too?” Brienne huffs.

Because sure, he sorted it all out – from his perspective, but how she feels about it and what that means for her is something he most definitely didn’t sort out. Or else this objectively, because Brienne knows that it is, good offer for an internship would make her far more excited – instead of giving her spells that she only knows from when anxiety gets the better of her.

“Not yet anyway. I am working on it, Princess,” Jaime says with a wink. Brienne studies him for a longer moment.

And there they are again, those walls.

Easy smiles. Winks. Jokes.

And there is just no sure way of telling what is going on behind those walls, within the castle he built around himself.

“Good luck with that,” she replies with a sigh. “And don’t call me ‘Princess’.”

“I can’t call you ‘wench’, I can’t call you ‘Princess’, man, I am running out of nicknames for you.”

“‘Brienne’ is fine.”

“Those are pet names. They show endearment. Addressing you by your first name is no way of showing endearment. That’s how everyone else calls you, too!”

“Wench – _endearment_?”

“I call no one wench but you?”

“Which is good, because most other women would smack you across the face,” Brienne points out to him, raising her index finger at the blond man.

“You smack me across the face half the time.”

“Because you make comments that are utterly smack-worthy.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Jaime argues.

“You can _beg to differ_ all you want. Most people would be offended for far less than I am.”

“For that you are still easily offended.”

“I am at a fairly normal level of feeling offended, trust me.”

“Ah, at last, the palace holding the ambrosia made from coffee beans,” Jaime calls out excitedly as the café comes into sight.

“You already had two in the morning, you know?” Brienne huffs.

“And _you_ know that I need that to somehow make it through the day. Needless to mention that I still suffer a bit from jetlag, poor me.”

“You didn’t change time zone, you know?”

“I am still pretty tired as a result. You should be gentle with me.”

“You go on dreaming,” Brienne says, tapping him on the upper arm.

She approaches the counter and makes her order. Jaime smiles to himself, happy to hear that she didn't forget how he likes his coffee exactly as he searches for a table, glad to find one that is rather secluded.

Soon thereafter, Brienne appears with the coffees in hand. She settles down, sliding the cup over to him.

“Oh, I was _craving_ for this. They have the best coffee on campus… if not entirely,” Jaime monas happily as he takes the first sip. “The one at Casterly Rock is crap, I tell you.”

“Though sometimes I do wonder.”

“About what?” He frowns.

“You are stinking rich, as you keep underlining again and again. What is your obsession with me having to treat you a coffee?” Brienne asks.

“What? You are rich yourself. Won’t hurt your purse, will it?” he huffs into his drink.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I just like it when you treat me something.” He shrugs.

“Jaime.”

“I am too lazy to order myself?”

“ _Jaime_.”

And again those walls.

Jaime has a tendency of dancing around topics instead of just stating things as they are. Brienne knows that she has problems opening up, but that man has a talent of hiding everything behind smiles and jokes. It was tough for her to get to the point that she even realized that there was someone quite different beneath the jokes, smug smiles, and even smugger comments.

But sometimes his walls just go up and there is no way to move beyond them.

And they seem to be high up ever since he returned to Oldtown.

Sometimes she just wished she knew what was inside his head.

Then maybe she could…

“It tastes better if you didn’t pay for it. I think that’s scientifically proven.”

Brienne wrinkles her nose.

So much to that.

It’s always the same with him.

“Whatever, then,” she mutters, taking a long sip from her coffee.

“What? Are you mad at me again?” Jaime grimaces.

He hates it that she just breaks off the topic at some point, again and again. Brienne _always_ does that. If she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, she just stops. Period.

And people tell him that _he_ is bad at communicating – Brienne foremost!

“I am not mad at you. It’s just… forget it.”

Yet another thing she _always_ does – telling him to forget about it when both know that there is something Brienne wants to say, and that this is something neither one will forget.

And what Jaime truly despises is the idea that she caught the same disease as him – not being able to talk about certain things because your mouth is sealed. He surely hoped that he removed that seal from her by now, but… sometimes, it’s right back in place.

If only he could make her say all those things so he doesn’t have to…

“What now?” he keeps asking anyway.

“It’s nothing. Just drink your coffee full of wonder,” Brienne replies sharply, then leans her head back to let the sunlight warm her skin, closing her eyes.

Jaime opens his mouth to say something, to say what she probably wants to hear – namely that he likes it when she treats him a coffee because she is the only one who ever cared remembering his exact preferences. Because there is this one small moment, the smallest portion of a second, when Brienne walks down the rows to the table with coffee in hand and tries to find him, and then her eyes find his and her big blue eyes spark up as though she found something that was long lost. And that he loves just that moment, that he loves that expression, that he…

It’s on the tip of his tongue, it is, but once Jaime opens his mouth… not so much. Then only the easy replies come out, the obvious ones, the ones that are supposed to sound funny so that he doesn't sound like a sappy teenager who watched too many romantic comedies.

Jaime is an adult, he should know how to have such conversation, but… whenever he tries, it’s a miserable fail. He means one thing, but does another. He wants to say one thing, but says quite the opposite.

Really, it’s a disease without an antidote.

“Speaking of wonder, I do _wonder_ if you changed your mind on the banquet thing.”

“Not at all,” Brienne snorts, not bothering to look back at him. “And that transition was pretty crappy, by the way.”

“Oh, c’mon. I would even treat you a brand-new dress. Because if you get treated a dress, it will feel better, didn’t you know?”

“That’s bullshit,” Brienne sighs in a sing-song.

“The coffee does taste better. I can tell you so from experience.”

“I will _not_ go to that event,” Brienne replies in an almost singing voice.

First the impromptu visit, then the impromptu life-planning, and now an impromptu invitation to an event Brienne had any plan not to attend? Yeah no, Jaime may convince her of some many things she normally wouldn’t want to do, but he won’t get his way with her in every damn matter he sets eyes on.

“I am asking you for one teeny-tiny favor.”

“A _big_ favor, and by far not the only one ever since you came here,” Brienne corrects him.

“You love my company, don’t try to deny it. I still think I should get you one of those cardboard standup things that looks just like me so that you don’t feel so lonely while I am not around.”

“You try that once, then that thing lands in the lake instantly.”

“You would drown me? I am upset,” he gasps, feigning distress.

“I am still not coming to that event,” she grounds out, leaning back forward to give him a glance of misgiving.

“Oh, c’mon. You just want to be a tease.” Jaime grins.

“No.”

“ _Yes_. You keep bringing it up yourself. I just offered you an easy way to change topic, instead, you came back to it. You want me to beg for it. You want me to ask you nicely with sprinkles on tops. You _want_ to be convinced,” Jaime goes on, his voice somewhat darker this time. Brienne can feel the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing upright.

“It’s good to know that you know exactly what I want,” she snorts, sipping some of her coffee.

“I know you well, wench.”

Better than she is probably aware.

Even if Brienne wouldn’t ever want to admit it, Jaime knows that they are very much alike.

Too alike at times.

“I don’t want to be convinced, sorry to disappoint you.”

“ _Of course_ you do. Now, you’d get a dress, you’d get new shoes if you liked, a purse. Whatever you think you need for that party, I shall provide,” Jaime goes on bargaining.

“You know that you are trying to convince me with only just material things. If you knew me, you’d know that this is one of my least concerns,” Brienne argues.

Because she gets the bad feeling that Jaime seems to have gotten the idea stuck inside his head that if he provides her with all those fancy material things, she will just instantly agree to all of his ideas without questioning. And he should know her better than that.

And if that wasn’t the case, Brienne wouldn’t know because Jaime doesn’t say what he means.

Gods help her, just why is it so difficult to talk to him sometimes when it’s the easiest thing on earth at other times?

“Obviously, but if you buy a dress that you like, you will feel more confident, if you feel more confident, then you might even enjoy yourself at that party with cheap canapés and punchbowl,” Jaime goes on without relent. “Man, I love syllogisms.”

“I am not coming.” She shakes her head.

“I’d rather not come either, but I don’t get around it,” Jaime argues.

He could really rather do without. Jaime would rather spend his time catching on the time they lost between emoticons, pixelated or frozen images, short text messages, and even shorter phone calls that ebbed way too often into “how are you? – I am fine, how are you? – I am fine. How is the weather?”

The issue is that if you make such a discovery, the professors and authorities have certain expectations, especially when you are one of the former protégés. They want you to give speeches and promote the university. They are always out for promotion. And since the university made some many things possible for him, especially when Jaime had to take his sick leave thanks to the stupid hand injury, he knows he owes them more than one debt.

And a Lannister always pays his debts, after all.

A part of Jaime just hoped that Brienne, as his best friend, would suffer with him through it, knowing that those obligations are far less annoying with her around.

In fact, Brienne makes everything more bearable for him – safe for her glances of judgment and bullheadedness, those are things Jaime would rather do without, though he is aware that this is part of the package labelled “Brienne,” and he wouldn’t ever trade that box for anything in the world.

“While _I_ do,” Brienne argues. “Which means that we don't have to share the same cruel destiny. Just why do you want me to partake in it?”

“I told you, I want to walk in with someone whom I can talk to for the evening.”

“And if I were to say that I would only show up in pants and tee? Would that make you change your mind?” Brienne threatens him, narrowing her big blue eyes at him.

“Not at all. You know that I don’t care for what you wear so long you like it. Though I guess authorities might have something different to say about that. They don’t want that for the gents either because it’s supposed to be fancy and all.”

As for Jaime, he never really cared for what she wore or how she looked like. While he teased her specifically about it in the beginning, that was more to drive her away. And that again was rooted in his wanting to drive her away. After all, they were antagonists at first, and Jaime was intent on standing up to that role.

However, deep-down, and especially once they got to know each other and became friends, he never really bothered. There are things about her that aren’t conventionally beautiful, true, but then again, Jaime never bothered about conventions.

And truth be told, there is no better sight than Brienne in a loose shirt and short pants, hair a mess, eyes narrow slits from sleep, flashing him a lazy smile as she straightens up herself.

“Of course,” she huffs.

“Do I really have to get on my knees to beg you?”

“You will stay right where you are. I don't want a scene here, Seven Hells,” Brienne snaps, and she can see his eyes flickering darkly at once. “Oh, so I can pressure you into doing it by threatening you to bend the knee? How convenient.”

“I will walk away and leave you standing there.”

“You know that would look like you just refused to marry me, right?” He grins.

“Don't test me. Or else I might smack you, and _then_ leave,” Brienne warns him, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

If he is so good at reading her, why doesn’t he get it that this makes her feel uncomfortable, this kind of talk?

“Does smacking me convince you of coming with?”

“Gods.”

“You know that I am stubborn. You know that for a long time, so don’t act surprised.”

“I am not surprised. I am just fed up. Also, I should be studying. You know, _finals_.”

“You mostly study during the day and very late at night. The banquet happens to be somewhat in-between,” he points out to her.

Does she really think that he didn’t take that into consideration before ever bringing this up?

Needless to mention that she was fine going to that stupid party that Brienne tends to cloak in mystery and turned-away glances that have Jaime nearly going insane as to what exactly happened that night.

“ _Jaime_ ,” she whimpers.

“I love it when you mewl my name like that,” he replies with a smug grin that makes her shudder internally.

“Oh, shut your mouth.”

“Do it again! I love that sound. It’s squealy!”

“I will shut up now. I gave my answer,” Brienne grumbles, leaning back in her seat.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t leave me hanging here, Brienne. Your _bestestest_ friend needs a little help.”

“I won’t come. I am fed up with parties.”

Likely forever.

After that core melt accident thanks to Hyle and his gang, Brienne very much feels like parties are never going to be issue again, safe for family’s and friends’ birthday parties where she can expect not to encounter wages on who’d convince her of having sex with a guy eager to earn some pocket money.

“You can’t be fed up with parties. For that you have been to too few,” he argues.

“I am still fed up. End of story.”

“Was the party _that_ bad, really?” Jaime asks, making sure to keep his tone casual.

“It was boring, yeah. I don’t need that again.”

Never again.

“But _I_ wasn’t at that party.”

And Brienne is still glad for it that he wasn’t. He would have given her hell about it. Just like Jaime would have tried to act like some twisted version of her big brother again, as he has done numerous times. And while Brienne likes the idea that someone cares about her in that way, it annoys her when Jaime belittles her and acts so brotherly towards her.

She doesn’t want him to act like a brother.

“Which I thought would make it much more interesting.”

“And weren’t you wrong about that? Look at it like this: had I been there, you probably would have had one hell of a time.”

She had one _hell_ of a time even without him. Just that it was literal hell, materialized behind a window, next to a keg, and with laughter and snickering chasing her away.

“You are unbearable, you know that?” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Well, you put up with me in general. So that’s homemade trouble, my lady.”

Brienne folds her arms on the table, leans forward in her seat, to look him deep in the eye. Jaime copies her movement with a chuckle.

“You know what?” she sighs.

“What?”

“I will come with, but to _my conditions_.”

Brienne knows that this is a battle she will not win, and neither does she have the strength to fight it anymore. He will just keep asking, and if he keeps asking, he will try to detect weaknesses. That means he will ask why she doesn’t want to go to parties, which will lead to her having to think of that night of horror and at some point she won’t be able to keep it up anymore and he will know.

And she can’t have him know.

She needs that one wall for herself.

“I am all ears, wench.”

“Which brings us to condition no. 1: You won’t call me ‘wench’ that whole evening.”

“Fine.” He smiles.

Jaime thought he’d have to do more convincing.

“I won’t stay long. Long enough not to make it look like we just want to get the hell out, but not so long that the professors get drunk and hit the dancefloor.”

“That’s the best part!” he pouts.

“ _Jaime_.”

“ _Fine_.”

“If you behave like a little shit, I will go, and you won’t get to call me upon it,” Brienne says, pointing her index finger at him.

“Okay. You really tend to take the fun out of things,” Jaime moans.

“You will not leave me standing by the sideline like it was the case for that meet and greet. I am not up for watching you as some Hildy type of person rides on your lap as though you were a pony.”

“Hm, you are turning quite possessive on me, I quite like that,” he chuckles.

So it affected her after all… a very selfish part of Jaime take some secret joy in that circumstance, though he knows he should not. To think that she was jealous, is perhaps still jealous, for his sake…

“Don’t get me wrong. I just don’t dig the idea of being dragged along to keep your company, only to have my drink to talk to,” Brienne replies quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“As I said, it will be done as you say.” He nods.

“You won’t get dead drunk. If you do, I won’t haul your sorry ass back to the dorm but leave you to sleep off your hangover behind the bar or behind a bush, your choice.”

“Reasonable,” Jaime agrees, rolling his shoulders.

“And generally… just don’t act like an ass.”

“Hm, I can’t make any promises, but I shall try my best,” he chuckles. “So we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.” Brienne nods.

She is going to regret this, she is sure, but Brienne also knows that she won’t be able to say no to him for much longer, so it’s better to negotiate the conditions before Jaime gets her to the point.

“Splendid! I knew I could always count on you,” Jaime laughs, winking at her.

In fact, that is one of those things he is always certain of. Once you have Brienne’s friendship, once you earned her trust, you can always be sure of her support.

Brienne is the most loyal person Jaime has ever met, and he didn’t know how much he was craving that in a relationship until he had it with her. Before, Jaime was so accustomed to only ever relying on his family – for all the good it has done him – that he didn’t even realize just how much he needed someone in his life he could rely on so unconditionally.

“You owe me for this,” she warns him. “Big time.”

“Oh, I bet I will find means to make this up to you,” he muses. “As you know, a Lannister always pays his debts.”

“Like?” Brienne grimaces at him quizzically.

“Oh, I could…,” Jaime means to say, with any intention to say something to bring back that wonderful blush of hers, but he is interrupted by a shrill shriek that has him jump in his seat.

“BRIENNE!”

Jaime whirls his head around to see Sansa hurrying over to them.

So much to that.

Though this time, Jaime will blame it on good Sansa for interrupting him. He potentially could have said what was on the tip of his tongue, but he was interrupted by outside forces!

There was _no_ way of helping it.

Which is pitiful in itself to even think, he knows.

But who ever said that even Jaime Lannister is pitifully unable in some aspects of life?

“Hey, what brings you here?” Brienne asks as the redhaired girl approaches, her ponytail swinging up and down as though she’d just jump out of a comic book.

“Oh, I needed coffee. Finals are _killing_ me and I need my caffeine infusion,” Sansa rambles.

The girl really likes to talk fast.

She turns her head to Jaime, hugging him briefly, flashing the brightest of smiles at him. “Oh, I’ve heard that you’re back! How is Casterly Rock? Did you have a good flight here? How did the presentation go? Oh, and just how the hell can it happen that we didn’t see each other despite the fact that you’ve been here in over a day?!”

“Uhm… I shall try to answer in order: Casterly Rock is the usual. The flight was without complication. I think it went pretty well. I was just really tired yesterday, so I didn’t go around seeing many people.”

“Oh, so only the BFF’s got to see you yesterday, I see. Did you see Tyrion yet? He didn't mention anything to me when I talked to him this morning about that little administration issue for the humanities department. You wouldn’t ever know how busy it can get when there are new regulations for the next round of enrolment coming semester!”

Jaime flashes her a polite smile. Sansa is a sweet thing, but she talks way too fast to Jaime’s liking at times. Brienne told him that she wasn’t always like that, after her ex, Ramsay, some nasty from Dreadfort who thought he was King of the Campus, treated her like shit. Brienne was very much concerned for her, because she was very depressed, very closed-in on herself, but ever since Sansa found the confidence to break away from him, she renewed herself.

She is happy to stick around Tyrion, not for romantic reasons, but because he saw that she was really well at handling administrations, so he gave her tasks in the field and gave her work at his office. Ever since that time, Sansa thrived and is now all bubbly and girly as she was while still younger, according to Brienne. Something that the older woman was always more than relieved about.

“Well, we can count ourselves lucky that you figure it all out for us,” Jaime replies.

“So did you see Tyrion yet?” Sansa asks another time.

“I did not, in fact. Though I plan on doing it. The little dwarf will only be mad at me if I don’t show up at his office so he can show me his little kingdom.”

“Oh, he’ll be _totally_ glad to see you!”

“Uhm, Sansa?” Brienne asks hesitantly.

“Yes?” she turns to her abruptly.

“You called out to me. Is there any urgent business you have with me, or were you just greeting?” Brienne asks.

Sansa tends to forget those things at times.

“No, no, actually totally important matters. I almost forgot!” the ginger replies, clapping her hands together. “I’ve talked to mom yesterday on the phone. So, I have to send ahead that I am befriended with Jeyne, as you might know, who works for the student counselling department. So she told me that when you were there for the mandatory career planning session, you stated that you weren’t entirely sure yet what you would do after you finished your degree early on… which made this thing mandatory for all I know…”

Jaime tilts his head sideways. At some point it’s almost fascinating how the girl can keep check on so much information and shoot it out like a machinegun.

Brienne didn’t lie when she said that there was much more in that girl than one could estimate, judging by her looks and attitude.

“I thought that this was confidential?” Brienne grimaces.

She thought that her student counsellor wouldn’t talk about that to just… _everyone_?

Though then again, Brienne likely shouldn’t be surprised. Oldtown University has its very own rules regarding these matters. Everyone knows everyone. And everyone talks to everyone.

Which makes keeping secrets ever the harder.

“Not really, at least not for Oldtown. I guess some universities might be different about that… I’d have to check… Point is, Jeyne told me because we are friends and she knows that we are friends in turn, so it’s not like this is a biggie even if it weren’t allowed according to the regulations…,” Sansa goes on, though Brienne gently interrupts her, “You mentioned your mom… how does that relate to that issue now?”

Sansa snaps her fingers. “I am sorry, I am not kidding when I say that finals are killing me. My mind is all over the place – even more than usual.”

Brienne offers an easy smile. Indeed Sansa is not always like that, but around finals, she tends to fuss a lot.

“Oh, right, back on target now. So I talked to mom the other day. Now you must know that my mom’s brother, so my uncle, ha, Edmure, he’s head of the Riverrun Museum. Even though my granduncle Brynden is actually doing most of the work there. However, it was technically given to my uncle after my great-granduncle passed away. Anyways, I digress all over. The point is that if you want to, I am supposed to let you know that you can always work in Riverrun to gain some work experience. It might be not the most prestigious museum, but it might be a good buffer to sort yourself out about your future career choices. It’s always nice to add such to your resume, you know. They’d gladly take you at once. You are overqualified anyway. I’m just supposed to tell you.”

“Wow, that’s… _thank you_ , and your mother. I mean, it’s really kind of her to even think of me in that way…,” Brienne means to say, but this time Sansa interrupts her with a sweet smile, “It’s the least our family can do after you helped me out such a great deal a while back.”

Sansa looks at her more sincerely this time.

As a matter of fact, Brienne was the one who kept pressuring Sansa to end the relationship – and it may or may not be that Ramsay Bolton got beaten up in a dark alley after that, leaving him on the ground like a whimpering mess, crying for his daddy.

Though of course there was no way to tell who it was.

Ramsay could only say it was some “bulky dude with blond hair.” Since that applies to about thirty percent of the campus staff and student body, there was nothing much for him to do but forget about it.

Soon thereafter, he left Oldtown to go back to Dreadfort. Rumor has it that his father took him into the family business, which is big into taxidermy and fur clothes, despite the fact that he is no _rightful heir_ , since Ramsay was the result of an affair Roose Bolton had.

He never bothered Sansa since, and while Brienne made sure to keep her away from that trouble, there is an unspoken acknowledgement of the older woman’s support during that time, and it's not unlikely that Sansa is well aware who was that mugger in the alleyway who taught her abuser some _valuable lessons_.

“You know that you don’t have to do that, though, right?” Brienne argues.

She never would demand anything back for helping out a friend of hers.

How did Renly always put it? Her loyalty comes free of charge.

“Of course! But it was a phone call away, c’mon. Not a big deal. As I say, just think about it. If you want it, simply let me know. I can also give you the addresses and stuff in case you want to look into it. Edmure is a bit… _dull_ , I will admit, but Brynden is really nice, gruff, but nice. He has lots of stories to tell of the former days, and he’s a bit grumpy at times… very grumpy… though I guess that comes with age… I bet you’d get along greatly! You know what, I’ll just send you the material via mail later the evening. I have everything at the office, stupid me. Then you look through it and see if it’s something for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Alright-y, I gotta be on my way again,” Sansa says, waving. “See you two around!”

And with that she whooshes off again.

Brienne shakes her head with a smile. Sansa can be a bit annoying at times, but you can say about her what you want, she does have a kind heart.

Brienne turns her head back around to Jaime, only to realize that he looks… pretty pissed.

“What?” She frowns.

“So… _she_ gets to make you job offers but _I_ don’t?” Jaime questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

Brienne suppresses any urge not to roll her eyes at that comment. Of course that had to come at some point.

“ _No_ , Sansa told me that I had that option, and said she’d be willing to send me some materials to look into the matter. She offered me help, and didn’t present me with a fait accompli, which is what _you_ did,” Brienne corrects him.

He won’t get to guilt-trip her on the matter.

Because yes, even if Jaime may not recognize it, it’s not only about the final product, it’s about the process the same way, and the process is what she utterly disagrees with at this point.

“What does it matter? It’s a minor difference, when essentially both are a job offer, though I may add that mine is by far better than the one you got just now,” Jaime grumbles.

Casterly Rock is one of the most prestigious institutes in entire Westeros, in fact one of a kind in the entire Westerlands. And she wants to go to a small museum like this to do what? Show school children that one arrow they saved from the Siege of Riverrun?

From a siege, he may add, that ended without any sort of bloodshed thanks to Goldenhand the Just.

Brienne gets up at once, ripping Jaime out of his thoughts.

“How about you try to figure it out by yourself?” she mutters. Brienne just can’t take up with that right now. She was actually in a good mood until he had to come back to that and act as though she was the only one acting unreasonably here.

“Where are you going?” he asks, still somewhat perplex.

“I have classes now. So, ugh… I will see you later,” Brienne snaps.

Plus, Brienne really wants to have some time on her own – and that means without Jaime being only close. Never was a class held by Pycelle so welcome until just now.

“But…”

“Bye.”

And before he can even formulate a reply, Brienne has grabbed her back and continues to walk away without looking back only just once. Jaime lets out a grunt as he leans back in his seat.

One success, one epic fail.

Really, that woman is driving him all kinds of crazy. If Sansa Stark offers, she’s head over heels for it, if Jaime Lannister does it, she feels offended.

Though the quirky redhead made one case in point – he definitely should see about his brother. That will take his mind away from these kinds of things. And Tyrion, apparently, is one of the few members of the family Jaime enjoys having conversation with. He lets out a sigh before he gets up as well, downing the last sip of his coffee in one huge gulp before proceeding to the office department.

Tyrion’s office is spotted pretty fast – and Jaime simply walks in after knocking, not waiting for him to bid him inside.

His little brother did the same thing since forever, so they are used to walking in on each other having private or official businesses.

After Jaime walked in on him with his secretary slash lover Shae polishing the rod right under his table, the older brother stopped caring about it, really.

“Brother dearest! What a rare pleasure to have you here! I already feared you’d forgotten about me altogether, already giving presentations without inviting me!” Tyrion calls out from his large office desk, hopping off his stool to come to the front to extend his arms to Jaime for a brief if heartfelt hug.

“I told the professors to invite you. I thought you would have been bored about that talk anyway,” Jaime argues, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as he straightens back up.

“I am interested in history, since I am interested in knowledge as a whole, but I have to admit that I do not share your apparent obsession with digging up dusty books and even dustier swords. Though I reckon that if you told Aemon to tell me in turn, it was a lost cause from the beginning. He is an expert in his field, there is no way of denying it, but that guy would likely forget to put on his pants in the morning if Samwell Tarly didn’t see to it.”

Tyrion gestures at his brother to take a seat, which Jaime does, tapping his fingers on the armrests as though he was playing the piano.

“Is Tarly his maid or something?” the older man asks, frowning. Tyrion motions around his big table to get back on his own chair.

“No, Aemon is his dissertation advisor – and both seem to get along _very_ well. They talk about old books the whole time. It’s like they share a brain. It is quite frightening at some point, though I suppose it is beneficial to both sides. I would be much more worried if Sam didn’t have a sweet girlfriend who works at one of the cafés… Gilly or so.”

“One can always rely on you to know the latest gossip. Some things just never seem to change, even if you are no longer a student.”

“I have to know what the professors are up to. Administrations are no fun. Especially if your normal field of study is psychology, specifically economic psychology, because administration proves to be about as economical as I am tall in frame,” Tyrion exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose, nodding at the heap of papers on his desk.

Yeah, no, that is nothing Jaime envies his little brother for.

“Oh, c’mon. You wouldn’t work that job if it wasn’t giving you anything. It can’t be the money. For that we are both too rich,” Jaime huffs.

“That is true of course. Well, you know that I only cover up for someone else to rise into the position. Damn Luwin for going back to Winterfell to play private tutor for the Stark breed. _That_ is most definitely not the job I signed up for because I feel like doing it. I just do it until they got a proper replacement for him. And that in turn is owed to my utter benevolence people don’t give me enough credit for. Then I am off to the wonderful world of teaching again. I just love to see the students tremble in fear.”

Tyrion rubs his hands together with a mischievous grin.

“You torture them with those theses and tests, don’t you?” Jaime laughs.

What his brother lacks in height, he has tenfold in intelligence of the wicked kind.

“I am a dwarf. I have to make them aware that the fact that they can overpower me physically doesn’t mean they get to slack off in course. I want my students to excel. As I like to say: _Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you_.”

“You sound very professor-like, dear brother,” Jaime says with a grin. “Also, I still wonder if you got that printed on a mug.”

“I hope I sound like that,” Tyrion asks. “So? Is there anything I have to know about that magical sword one of our janitors found back home?”

“Other than that, many professors will likely want to touch it at some point and may want to camp over at the Rock like groupies without a life… nothing much that concerns you, really. No.” Jaime shakes his head.

“I do wonder, however?” Tyrion questions.

“Yes?”

“Why exactly did you put that forward to the professors already at this stage of the research? I mean, normally you are someone who works out the tests beforehand, and _then_ gives an evaluation. It wasn’t even that you were invited or asked to give a preview. Had you not approached Aemon, you could still be in Casterly Rock running those tests that I suppose you need to make a more rounded account on the matter. So… how is that?”

Jaime shakes his head with a sigh.

You can fool some many people, but not Tyrion Lannister.

“I wanted to spoiler them a bit,” the older brother says with a shrug of the shoulders. “It’s good to have their mouths watering. Advertisement is everything, even in the history department of academic life which is said to be dead. Also, I hope that news will reach out to Dragonstone. I still have the faint hope to get my hands on Widow’s Wail, despite the fact that Stannis is sitting on it like a hawk, the asshole.”

“Ah, that pet theory you and Brienne share in, right? I still remember quite vividly how I had to listen to you two going on about that topic for an entire evening,” Tyrion snorts, rolling his eyes.

“You were so drunk you hardly even noticed that we moved,” Jaime argues. “I was _that_ close to poke you with a stick to make sure that you are still alive.”

“I still heard you.”

“ _In any case_ , it’s no _pet theory_. There is actually some pretty solid evidence that is largely ignored because it doesn’t fit consensus… but yes, that is why I want to get Widow’s Wail for my research.”

“Speaking of which, I had to notice that you did some bulldozing in the administrative department as a result of your research, as I am a big part of said administrative body,” Tyrion goes on. “Sadly.”

“What now?” Jaime questions.

“Brother dearest, your marvelous plan of changing schedules and dead-lines for theses towards a degree and combining it with internships as it pleases you is apparently not achieved by swinging a magical wand… or Father’s wallet. In case you were unaware of that circumstance.”

“I talked to Aemon, he said it’s fine,” Jaime argues.

“ _Aemon_ hasn’t concerned himself with course regulations since… I don't know how old that guy actually is. I still believe he was there before the university was built… but I digress. The point is that he will say amen to anything that sounds plausible in that regard. Normally, Tarly will handle those things for the old man and tell him how he is to compose his tests and course requirements because Aemon has no clue, but you called him directly, so _of course_ he played elderly cheerleader for the idea. He doesn’t know better.”

“Are you subtly trying to tell me that I shouldn’t have turned to him for the matter? He is Brienne’s dissertation advisor, and the head of the chair of the entire department. That is actually the guy to turn to for all _I_ know,” Jaime insists, starting to grow more and more frustrated.

He thought that Brienne was only being difficult about saying yes, but now it seems like she is far from the only one.

He had a plan, okay? And that plan was good until people started poking fingers at it.

“You definitely should have approached _me_ first,” Tyrion tells him.

Jaime rolls his eyes.

Just why is everyone giving him a hard time about it?

Jaime knows that the mills of the Seven grind slowly at universities in general, and progress is something that is only ever taken notice of once there is no way of escaping it anymore, but a part of him sincerely hoped that breathing new life into the schedule with such a proposal – with something to back up his claim in the shape of a Valyrian steel sword – would face less trouble than changing module descriptions or whatever it is that they call them these days.

“It’s not like I was asking for the impossible. Brienne may have even extended for another semester to delay her thesis to then do an extra module as an internship… or so.”

“ _Or so_ ,” Tyrion repeats. Jaime narrows his eyes at his little brother. You can’t make a single statement without that little man shredding it to bits and pieces.

And Tyrion also takes way too much spiteful pleasure in it.

“I am _most certain_ that this can work, even if you are trying to be a tease about it,” Jaime huffs.

“Well, it may take some meetings with Aemon, Brienne, and some other staff members to get it all in check, but… we are Lannisters, true. We bend the rules if we must,” Tyrion says, nodding his head. “It’s the only way our dear sister ever got her degree, psst.”

“Well, we might have to delay such a meeting. Brienne’s _also_ being a bit of a tease about it.”

“As she should be. Because none of this is verified just yet.”

“It will, Tyrion, now don’t act like I am asking you to give her an A+ on a project she never worked on. I am merely making an offer towards a new topic and combine that with the information she needs to make a full account on the matter to conduct her thesis. Even without an internship to count towards her credit points, it should technically work because Brienne has not signed up for her thesis just yet. Seven Hells, you guys are being difficult.”

Jaime runs the flat of his palm over his face, then rakes his fingers through his hair.

Inside his head, that wasn’t nearly as troublesome as people make it out to be just now.

“What exactly is going on with you, big brother, you tell me?” Tyrion asks the one-million-stag question now.

“Don’t use that psychologist voice on me. You are not my therapist, let us rejoice.”

“And the Gods know I am glad for that. Your mind is a place I don’t want to poke at, no, no.”

“For that you take way too much pleasure in the matter anyway,” Jaime argues with a grin.

“ _In any case_ … it is rather rushed of you to come here with no solid data on the sword, without having talked to me about the course changes you mean to make, and I assume without having had previous discussion with Brienne because she did not approach any of the staff about the matter. She had that job counselling three days ago, and by that time she had no clue that you would jump in with an internship to focus a new thesis on.”

“It was a surprise,” Jaime insists, tapping his fingers on his thighs absently.

“Surprise career choices, _really_?” Tyrion makes a face.

“Now you also start,” Jaime groans, rolling his eyes.

“You are rushing things. You come here all of a sudden… where does that urgency come from?” Tyrion questions. “There wasn’t ever before. You are normally one to balance out the options available to you, and only make a decision once you have it all figured out. And that takes looooooong some many times. So where does that rush come from all of a sudden?”

“Other than dearly missing my little pest of a brother?” Jaime asks with a nonchalant smile.

“Other than that, yes?”

“I wanted to surprise my friend with a great offer for a great internship to work on her favorite topic. And apparently that is not good for some fucked up reason,” the older brother grumbles, pulling on a loose thread on his shirt.

“Jaime, real talk now.”

“That _is_ real talk,” the older brother insists.

“It’s not. You are lying.”

“I am _not_ lying.”

“You talk faster, you tap your fingers on your jeans, you…,” Tyrion says, but Jaime interrupts him before he can get to the point, “I told you about pulling the psychologist card on me, right? And how I will smack you across the face if you overdo it?”

“It’s unlike you. That’s all I am saying. You are more into careful planning – or planning until the damn last second before you act, as I said. So obviously, this change in behavior you display is something that has me concerned,” Tyrion argues.

“Well, I wanted to take matters into my own hands. And I had a convenient link between showing the professors my latest findings and combining that with the opportunity for Brienne that arose as a result. Crucify me for just taking the initiative and going ahead to come here without years of careful preparation for a talk and a meet-up with one of my friends. Geez. Why is everyone acting like this is the worst idea ever? It’s a prestigious internship at a prestigious institute.” He rubs his fingers against his eyes to soothe some of the ache spreading all the way from his forehead to the back of his skull.

“Hey, if I were in Brienne’s position, I’d be happy about it, but I am easy to please.”

“Are you?!” Jaime laughs.

“In that regard, yes,” Tyrion agrees. “So anyway. You don't seem to want to share with your brother just what devil possesses you lately, am I correct?”

“Not really,” Jaime replies, shaking his head. “Will you see about the arrangements, though?”

“Of course,” Tyrion assures him with an easy smile.

“Just be sure to have something solid before you turn to Brienne again. I hope she will have calmed down by the time to see that this is what she wants.”

“I must say, you two would make for some truly fascinating project, speaking as a psychologist here,” the younger Lannister man tells him.

“You once forced me to take one of those stupid psychology evaluation tests back when you started your first courses at college – and what did it say about me? Psychopath, sex-addict, delusional, and was it coulrophobia? I think that’s what it was. And I can’t really say I am afraid of clowns.”

“That is because you cheated on the test and always ticked what sounded most outrageous,” Tyrion argues, pointing his index finger at the older man with a grin.

“Which proves my point that you shouldn’t try to analyze me on that level. I am bound to do things my way, and mess up the results if only to prove you wrong.”

“Good to know… in any case, brother, if I didn’t have to work, I would toast to your surprise return with all of its complications thus far,” Tyrion chuckles.

“You have a flask. More than one flask. We all know you do,” Jaime huffs, amused.

There are way too many complications to his liking at this point.

“But I try to stay _fairly_ sober while on this job because it gets too fuzzy with regulations even without alcohol making letters look funny on the page.”

“Man, sometimes I do miss college. All the drama and secret drinking,” Jaime sighs.

Not really, he can well do without most of the university hype, but he does miss being around here, no way around it.

“You are far better off without, trust me in this.”

“Oh c’mon, if you didn't like it, you would long since drive father’s employees crazy,” Jaime argues with a grin.

That was initially why Tyrion made that the focus of his studies, but over time, he grew fond of university life, and the fact that it is so far away from Tyrion Lannister most certainly played a bigger role in all this than he lets on during family get-togethers even Tyrion cannot bypass.

“True again, teaching does have its merits.” Tyrion nods.

“Well, not so much for me. I am quite happy to have escaped this field.”

“What? Didn’t you enjoy yourself giving a talk in front of all of those people, having all the professors blowing you kisses?” Tyrion snorts. “You should know that arrogance is part of our DNA. I considered writing my dissertation on that, but that would have meant I’d have to ask father to play along, which I dared to doubt.”

“I could well do without that attention. I have _no trouble_ giving a speech, but I am much more concerned with field work,” Jaime argues.

“You were always more for the practice than the theory.”

“Theory is the tool to practice for me.”

For Jaime, going through lecture after lecture about dusty theory was only ever the means to dig through actual dusty places in search of some hidden treasures, hidden artifacts, to uncover a history long since forgotten about.

“Hm,” Tyrion hums, his facial expression pensive.

“What now?” Jaime tilts his head.

“I keep thinking.”

“Stop thinking,” the older man huffs. “If you let your mind lead astray too far, it never brings about any good. Last time you had just that expression, you convinced me to take that course with Alliser Thorne, and let me tell you that one thing – that guy could only ever teach history because his worldviews are as old as history itself.”

“Does it have to do with our dear sister that you came here?” Tyrion asks bluntly.

“Why would you think _that_?” Jaime gapes.

“Because 90% of the drama that drove you this way or another had her as the primary source,” Tyrion replies, rolling his shoulders.

“It’s _not_ because of Cersei, hasn’t been in ages, and I’d very much appreciate it if we could treat the issue as something we both put to rest,” Jaime grumbles.

“Does our sister ever put something to rest other than her enemies?”

“It’s over and dealt with. Why would you think that even now that this is what drives me?” Jaime questions.

“Well, she almost made you join the Kingsguard Special Forces only so you’d be around her boarding school there,” Tyrion replies. “Talk about manipulative relationships and being blinded into making some very poor life choices, though gladly you pulled away from the cliff at the last second.”

“I left after the basic training. Seven Hells, we all know I made some stupid decisions back in the day. There’s no way of denying it, but it’d be most kind of you to finally stop rubbing it under my nose.”

“And that is not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Jaime huffs.

“All I am saying is that, _normally_ , if you jump into a situation like this head-first, it is not just the job that concerns you, it’s quite a private matter, very private,” Tyrion replies.

“Not Cersei, though,” Jaime insists.

“Mhm. Well, if it's not our dear sister, then…,” Tyrion means to say, but then tears his head to the side to glance at his watch. “Oh, it seems that I have to cut things short now.”

“What? I thought you wanted to go on a while longer listening to the sound of your own voice?”

“I normally would, but I have office hour for my students now,” the younger man says, gesturing at Jaime to get up. “So… if you were so kind.”

“You are throwing me out? The one kin you are on speaking-terms with? I am wounded, brother, deeply wounded.”

“Well, in case it went without your notice, the world does not have Jaime Lannister at its orbit,” the younger man chuckles.

“Never claimed it to be,” Jaime argues with a shrug. “I can’t help it that people tend to make me their personal orbit.”

“No, but you have a certain frame in your mind pointing in _just_ that direction.”

“Which would be?” Jaime questions with a frown.

“That’s something you’ll have to figure out yourself,” Tyrion replies. “C’mon now, I don’t want to make a fool of us both trying to push you.”

“Fine,” Jaime grumbles, holding up his hands before getting up.

“Yet, I do hope that we can find the time to actually meet without further interference before you take off again. It’s been quite some time since we’ve done that, dear brother,” Tyrion says in a more peaceable tone this time.

“Oh, and here I thought you just wanted to get rid of me.”

“For now,” the younger brother says with a grin. “But later on, I insist we get some drinks.”

“Of course you would.”

“Well, even if not, I assume you already got yourself an invitation to that meet and greet, so I will be seeing you there the latest, no?”

“You got it,” Jaime chuckles softly. “Well, then I will leave you to your mission of terrorizing your students. But do see about those arrangements once you find the time. Brienne will have to get started soon enough.”

Tyrion grimaces at him with an expression Jaime cannot really read, but then flashes a reassuring smile.

“If time allows, of course,” the younger man assures him.

“Good, then I will see you around.”

Tyrion waves as Jaime leaves the office, who is a bit surprised to see that Tyrion didn’t exaggerate when he said that there would be a queue. In fact, they line up to the other end of the hallway. Jaime shakes his head, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pants as he starts to make his way out of the building.

While that was quite refreshing to finally talk to his little brother in person after such a long time, it did not necessarily bring Jaime forward in the ways that matter.

Because apparently, Brienne is still too pissed to see how ridiculous she acts with regards to the internship, and it starts to drive Jaime crazy.

And now Tyrion makes it sound like his plan may not be as solid as he thought it to be after Aemon assured Jaime of this being a great opportunity Brienne should be glad to follow through with. The old professor called it a “fabulous idea.” He said that he’d be thrilled and that he is sure that “Ms. Tarth will share the sentiment most definitely. We all know about her obsession with those ancient swords – and who can blame her?”

Needless to mention that Jaime now got competition, which he never dared to even consider such. Friggin’ Riverrun. They don’t even have ancient swords, let alone Valyrian steel blades.

But there is no way of helping it – he will have to do some more convincing, and if there is something Jaime Lannister prides himself with, then it is to be one of the few people to push Brienne of Tarth into all those things she normally wouldn’t ever want to do or dare to do because she can be so uptight at times that it hurts.

Jaime fishes his phone out of his pocket to type in a message as he strolls across campus, pondering not just the next steps as he walks down the white-cobbled paths leading to the dorms but also those regarding his plan.

As it appears, it needs some improvement.

* * *

 

Brienne tries her best to listen to yet another stuttered litany by Pycelle, but she finds it incredibly difficult to let his words process inside her mind. Thinking about it, she might probably just as well leave because she is not absorbing any information on the dragon ornamentation found on funerary temples in Astapor following the reign of the Mother of Dragons.

Not that she is going to do it, though.

Brienne never skips classes.

Well… nearly never.

Except for that one time Jaime forced her into it, to sneak away to drive all the way to Horn Hill to attend a presentation about the forging technology of Valyrian steel blades by an independently working historian whose articles both found a very good read.

Brienne never would have done some many things if not for Jaime having forced her out of her shell, out of herself.

Since she never even considered doing such a thing, it was incredibly thrilling – despite the fact that no one apparently seemed to care whether she was there or not. However, to her it felt almost liberating to ride down the empty highways to chase some new views on history alongside Jaime, hand dangling out the window as they seemed to be able to escape nature itself, extending into distorted stripes of color, some nonsense music by Tom Sevenstreams blaring over the loudspeakers, and Jaime singing along out of tune to make her sing along because he keeps claiming that she has a nice singing voice.

Brienne can’t say that she does, but eventually she sang along if only to make him shut up, because of that one thing she is certain, Jaime is a gifted man in most other aspects, but song is not his field of expertise.

She shakes her head, glancing down on the nonsense pattern she drew on the page of her notepad absently, swirls and tendrils spreading across the border of the page, reaching further and further into the center, coupled with some not very accurately drawn daggers and swords.

Maybe she is giving Jaime too much of a hard time with all of this. Brienne knows he means her no ill and that sometimes, oftentimes, he ends up crossing her only just by accident. Or maybe she is just letting what happened at the party seep way too much into her interactions with him. Jaime cannot and should not know what she got herself into. After all, that is nothing he could help – in fact, he warned her and she didn’t listen until it was too late.

However, no matter how Brienne twists or turns it inside her head, she cannot bring herself to believe that what Jaime cooked out inside his brain is supposed to be the best for her in the near future. It simply doesn’t feel right, and it was Jaime of all people who told her that she had to rely and listen to her feelings more.

“Don't always accustom yourself to other people’s feelings,” he once told her when she let on some of the things that went on during her high school years. “Stand up to your own and tell the rest to fuck off.”

And now he expects her to break that rule Jaime hammered into her brain ever since their friendship became serious?

Just going off to the Rock to do research on the sword… that doesn’t seem right.

Brienne wants to do research on the blade, that’s not it, that’s _really_ not it, but she also wants to wrap up her degree to finally get out of university and dive into work, not just chase some internship. She wants to have the degree secured, over and dealt with, but Jaime makes something she had any intention to go the traditional way about into a risky endeavor with uncertain outcomes.

She worked extra-hard to be able to finish her degree early. Brienne cannot recount the many nights she spent in the library, eyes narrow slits as she tried to hammer theories and vital information into her caffeine-driven brain, pulling all-nighters more often that is healthy to somehow pull through exam week to get all the credit points needed to finally, _finally_ , get out of university and get herself a job to do the fieldwork she wants to do for the rest of her career.

And now she is supposed to take a de-tour for another semester that she put so much effort in to bypass only just to write a thesis on a topic that doesn’t have much theory coverage because Jaime finds it right and because he managed to convince Aemon of it?

Brienne wanted the traditional approach. She had it all set up. She has it all set up – because there is no way that Brienne will just toss her hard work overboard only just to fit her life into the boxes Jaime wants to provide. She wanted to follow through the tried and the trusted, just faster, to finally be able to work even on the riskier projects, but she wanted to have that degree wrapped up, solidly and fast.

 _That_ was the plan for her.

Jaime makes it sound like this isn’t a big step – to move all the way to the Rock to do her internship there, without even considering for a moment what other ways of going about it there are. This is a big step. Needless to mention that, _yes_ , there is the issue of then being forced to work for him, and far more importantly with him as her superior.

While Brienne has no trouble accepting Jaime’s authority based on the fact that he has more experience in the field and is a big gun in the institute, she believes that it’s at least worth considering what kind of a strain that may put on their friendship in turn, what that would make of their relationship, how it may make it difficult for them to work together, in just that constellation, every day, without any means of escape, as they had it at university, where Jaime and she still took different courses, and consciously so to not lynch each other due to overexposure.

That is no decision you make on a whim.

That is no decision you can just make without proper discussion, working out the details.

Without giving her the time to work out the details for herself.

To work out the details… _together_.

Brienne rolls her eyes as she tears her gaze back to the page, which is now covered in so many swirls and daggers that even the few notes she took are now no longer readable, buried beneath lines of ink.

And that is the other thing – she doesn’t want to think about those matters now. She wants to focus on everything else but Jaime Lannister and his grandeur future plans, especially since she is faced with the personal trouble she still has to come to terms with, and her general studies.

She doesn’t want to think about this. At all.

Or the stupid banquet.

Or his childish pouting about her merely considering the offer Sansa’s made, which would give Brienne a chance to finish her degree to her conditions, and do something on her own – because Brienne of Tarth doesn't need the _oh so great_ Jaime Lannister to get her an internship, even if the _oh so great_ Jaime Lannister seems to believe that every now and then.

Or his stupid habits of making her feel uncomfortable.

Of saying things without meaning them.

Or meaning something else.

Something she cannot figure.

And just why do her thoughts keep circulating around him?

While they were apart, Brienne missed him terrible, there is no way of denying it – not that she’d let him know that, of course, she’d never see the end of his gloating and teasing – but now that Jaime is here… Brienne thought that this would make matters better, to help ease just that pain, but instead she got feels like she is earning new invisible bruises thanks to him.

Normally, Jaime was someone to help her solve problems instead of producing more.

While he tends to get her into trouble more often that she would like to admit, Jaime was always helpful when it mattered, but now he is turning things upside-down when he was always the one to understand that Brienne had to do things her own way.

Did they become that much of strangers to each other due to the distance between them?

Did they lose each other out of sight between the still pixels on the screens?

“And that… uhm… is all for today, I think. If you have more questions, you are more than… ugh, welcome. Yes. Welcome to come join me to ask further questions. You may be dismissed,” Pycelle’s voice rings out, ripping Brienne out of the thoughts she doesn’t want to have in the first place.

The young woman grumbles to herself as she stuffs her notepad full of nonsensical scribbles into her leather bag before pushing through the crowd of fleeing students who fear that Pycelle will keep them for an hour-long litany to explain to you another time what he already told you during the lecture.

Once she is safe in one of the corners of the more or less spacious hallway, Brienne manages to fish out her phone as it keeps vibrating in her pocket.

If this is yet another photo of the inside of Jaime’s mouth, she will toss his phone into the toilet once she gets back to the dorm.

And _of course_ it’s a message by Jaime.

Who else would it be?

**_Jaime_ ** _: R u still mad at me?_

Brienne shakes her head with a growl before she starts typing her reply.

**_Brienne_ ** _: I am NOT mad at you._

She is, but Brienne isn’t going to let him know that because then Jaime is going to tell her that she is just being difficult again.

 ** _Jaime_** _: SURE, which is why you made your sweet escape to die of boredom in Pycelle’s lecture._ ಠ‿↼

She can’t help the faintest of smiles – Brienne didn’t think Jaime remembered her schedule to know what courses she’d have today.

**_Brienne_ ** _: I’m not mad at you. I’m simply not very happy with how things went in the café._

**_Jaime_** _: Good, already thought we’d have a domestic quarrel again._ (ó﹏ò｡)

Brienne licks her lips as her eyes dance over the messages popping up on the small screen.

She hates it when Jaime uses those terms: _domestic quarrel_ , arguing like an _old married couple_ , he once jokingly referred to them as _husband and wife_ when he dragged her to a party Brienne didn’t want to attend – that seems to be part of the basis of their relationship, that Jaime drags her to parties she doesn’t want to take part in. Back then, Brienne wanted to lynch him right on the spot, and whenever she thinks about it these days, she finds her fingers itching still.

Though she did smack him when they attended that party because he grabbed her ass for emphasis when he wanted to state yet again that they are “married in spirit.”

Jaime uses those terms and they mean nothing to him. It’s a joke for him, something to make her squirm and blush – because he has his fun if he gets her to that point, Brienne knows that, but to her… they don’t always translate to mere jokes, even though Brienne tries her best to take them for a joke.

**_Brienne_ ** _: Is there anything you need?_

**_Jaime_** _: Yeah, you 2 hurry up & get your well-toned _(‿ˠ‿) _outside._ ᗜੂͦ_(ﾟ◇ﾟ；)ノﾞ

Brienne furrows her eyebrows as she motions to the exit. Jaime always uses way too many emoticons. She already has her dear trouble reading people’s facial expressions, so using a lot of emojis is driving her two-times crazy. As though this added another layer of cryptic messaging to a language Brienne already has a tough time keeping with.

More often than she’d like to admit, she has to check up online to be sure just what some of those sign combinations mean.

Brienne reckons that this is exactly why Jaime uses them, to keep her confused and irritated. He takes insane amount of pleasure in these kinds of things.

Though obviously, she can decipher the first emoticon. Needless to mention that Jaime likes using it, a lot. In fact, whenever he is texting about Ned Stark, he will only ever use that set of signs to refer to the man. Though she is not particularly sure about the second one.

They always seem to be lost in translation.

The blonde-haired woman opens the heavy wooden door leading outside the building, only to see Jaime standing at the bottom of the stairs with two coffees-to-go in either hand.

 Brienne skips down the stairs with a frown.

“What happened to your policy of only ever drinking coffee I treated you?” Brienne asks as she comes to stand before him and Jaime holds out one of the cups to her.

After all, Jaime warned her from the beginning that he has a hard time changing his ways, so she shouldn’t hold her breath for it for him to change his habits at once… _or ever_.

“I thought it’d be a proper peace offer.”

“We are not at war.”

“Love is war. War is love. Something like that.”

Brienne blows out air through her nostrils, reminding herself not to take the joke-bait he is tossing at her right now.

“So anyway, I don’t want to argue with you the whole time. We will argue 90% of my stay anyway, because that is what we always do, but I want to have at least those 10% of peace, so… can we just be peaceful and drink some coffee?”

“I don’t think coffee is on the priority list right now. There’s tons of things that need figuring out.”

“I am aware,” Jaime exhales. “Which is why I thought it might be good to head back to the dorm. Then I can show you all the info that I didn’t leak in the presentation.”

“You are just advertising your plan.”

“As I should, if I want to convince you stubborn wench.”

“Way to make peace.”

“We both know you are a feisty one, just like we both know that I quite like that about you, most of the time. It’s very much like I am. Not that this is helping any, because that means two bullheads are always bound to clash, but… I can relate.”

“Are we getting to the point any time soon, just wondering?”

“Point is that I make it no secret that I want to try to convince you, so I am taking a chance now. However, since I know you also have to focus on finals, I would like to put forward the following deal: We two sweethearts take the coffees to the dorm, I show you what I have in terms of info material for two hours absolute maximum, and after that I will spend the evening at one of the bars close to campus to watch the football game that's no tonight, so you can study without being distracted by my attractiveness. Thursdays are normally the days where you like to work in the evenings. How does that sound?”

“Reasonable enough, I assume. Though you don’t get to drink your liver sore and scramble back to the dorm to crash down on the bed in your drunken stupor.”

“Hey, I was not the one who cuddled up in bed last night.”

“Shut your mouth!” she cries out, only to cover her mouth with her free hand, surprised at herself for being so loud.

Only Jaime Lannister manages to bring out the worst in her, Brienne knows.

“You can try to deny it, but I woke up, so I am fairly sure,” Jaime chimes with the most wicked of grins.

“Maybe you were just dreaming,” she huffs, averting her gaze so not to give away her game.

“I am pretty sure I wasn’t.”

Though it was very much dream-like nevertheless. Jaime can’t remember the last time he got such a good night’s sleep, only to wake up to the sensation of Brienne’s straw-like hair tickling his biceps as the first beams of sunlight filtered through the blue roll-down curtain.

It felt like a memory of a life he didn't live, but wouldn’t mind living, if only he would manage to be as honest with himself as he is with Brienne – most of the time.

“You go on believing that,” Brienne snorts, fighting a blush she would rather blame on the hot coffee, though it’s most definitely Jaime having noticed that in the morning without telling her that brings shades of red and pink to her cheeks now.

“You are still a terrible liar, Brienne, just so that you know,” he says in his easy sort of voice that takes some of the tension away while creating a new kind of discomfort within Brienne.

Yet again all those “it means nothing” messages hiding behind easy voices, easy smiles.

His apparent ease with the world drives her crazy.

“If you don’t behave yourself, I will lock the door,” she warns him.

“I know where you hid the spare keys,” he argues.

“I put them somewhere else since the last time you were around here.”

“Stuck underneath the name tag,” Jaime says with the most ridiculous of grins.

Brienne narrows her eyes at him, punching him in the arm, which makes Jaime laugh only ever the harder.

“You know you can’t hide thing from me, my lady,” Jaime chuckles. “We know each other too well.”

“By contrast, you can hide things from me wonderfully,” Brienne grumbles.

“What was that?” he asks, blinking.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

And here we go – the same situation all over.

How does it go?

Going through the same thing over and over, doing the same things again and again, to expect a different kind of result is defined as “madness.” And that definition may be much more on point than Jaime would like to admit.

Because this is madness.

It is madness that they seemed to be communicating far better so long it was filtered through text messages and emoticons.

Only Brienne of Tarth manages to make the self-conscious, confident Jaime Lannister feel like an awkward teenager, despite the fact that he is neither a teenager anymore (far from it), and not nearly as awkward as Brienne of Tarth happens to be. He should be able to act without the awkwardness, but he can’t bring himself to, for whatever the damned reason.

So yes, this is madness, and they are caught right in the middle of it.

“Not that again,” he groans.

Just what does it take to break them out of that pattern?

“We should just get going. Time is running out,” Brienne says, tapping her index finger on her wrist watch to indicate the time.

“Hey, no, two hours once we are at the dorm,” Jaime argues, forgetting about those communication problems for now. He knows he has to use that opportunity now to get her a bit more on his side.

After that, the rest should be a lot easier, or so he reckons.

To perhaps break some patterns.

Or at least cause some cracks and fissures.

“You didn't specify.”

“I specify now.”

“Tick-tock.”

“I still don't understand why I have to do the bidding here, you should be blowing me kisses, wench,” he grumbles, already starting to walk ahead, Brienne right beside him, fighting the most wonderful of blushes all over.

“Maybe once you use your brain you will figure out just why you have to do the bidding,” Brienne huffs.

Because no matter how smart Jaime Lannister may be, he doesn’t seem to comprehend that simple matter, or rather, something that should be simple to most other people, but isn’t to him.

“You just play hard-to-get.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists, watching her as she takes a sip from the cup he brought. “How is the coffee?”

“Very good,” she says, licking her lips in what is to Jaime a way too teasing manner, considering that this woman flat-out refuses to believe that anything she does or says is teasing or flirty.

Seven Hells, if only that woman knew…

If only he could say…

If only…

“Better than at the café?” Jaime asks, hiding a vicious grin as he lifts his own cup to his lips, relishing the hot liquid washing down his throat, which instantly went dry at the voice with which she delivered the last two little words.

“Maybe?” Brienne replies, wrinkling her nose in confusion. “Where else did you get it if not there?”

That is his favorite café after all, Brienne knows. She had to get him coffee from there whenever she had to treat him one. And that happened many, many, _many_ times.

“From the very same café. Which proves my theory: Everything is better when someone treats you,” Jaime says, wriggling his index finger in the air as though he was giving a lecture.

“That doesn’t prove your theory, that is a mere coincidence,” Brienne points out to him.

“Coincidences don’t exist in statistics.”

“Then it’s interferences or wrongly measured data.”

“Maybe I have to conduct a bigger survey on the matter to finally prove my theory.”

“You are aware that this is not what you studied?”

“Cut me some slack, Brienne.”

“I cut you way too much slack.”

“You go on believing that. You are the death of me.”

“And you the death of me.”

“How romantic.”

“That we are bound to get each other killed? Yeah, talk about romantic.”

“At least we’d die together in our utter annoyance about each other.”

“You do realize how morbid that is?”

“True again. Well, maybe we’ll be done with killing each other only just almost.”

“The 10%?”

“The 10%.”

Madness indeed, unsaid messages hiding at the bottom of takeaway coffee cups.


End file.
